


Stop Joking

by Apherion



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Falling In Love, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 30,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apherion/pseuds/Apherion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was just a stalker, someone that he had started hanging out with because he was threatened. He didn’t /mean/ anything to him. At any rate, he was probably a phase for the merc. He was bored and messing with Spider-Man seemed to be the best idea he’s had, or something. He didn’t know. He didn’t—shouldn’t—care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to see how Peter fell in love with Wade, and this is what ended up happening.

Peter felt the cold getting to his head as he webbed his way through the city. Aunt May was going to kill him when she figured out that he wasn’t resting, in bed, with the heating pad. He sniffed and landed on a rooftop, overlooking the alleyways so he could continue his patrol. “Ugh…” He lifted his mask slightly, breathing out through his mouth. It was hard to breathe underneath it. “I din thin ‘piders go’ thick,” he muttered to himself thickly, trying to get his stopped-up nose to work for a minute or two.

His senses had dulled slightly, but he had to soldier on for it was his job to watch after the city. He couldn’t take a day of rest, even if he desperately needed it. Though, it wasn’t the real reason why he was out tonight. He’d finally gained some ground after pouring over the research his parents had been doing, and he was going to try to hunt down that lead tonight.

“Stay back!” His ears picked up the faint outcry, and he had to strain to figure out which direction it was coming from before he tore after the sound of the man’s voice, heart racing, knowing this was around the area his investigation led him. He heard before he saw the other, and it didn’t take a genius to narrow down who the hell it was. His _brain_ sighed in exasperation.

“Well, nobody specified ‘in one piece’ on your death certificate,” the other said, and Peter could see the silver of the blades in the faint light drifting into the darkened alley.

“Dea’ool!” Peter shouted, and he groaned as he heard how he sounded. The merc turned around, and the reply was barely concealed mirth.

“Aw baby boy, you sure you want to tango right now? I’m almost finished here, go ahead and go back to bed.”

“I ca’ le’ you do tha’,” Peter replied, sniffing harder, preparing to shoot webbing at the man. It was possible this man Deadpool cornered could tell him about his parents.

“Sure you can. It’s easy. Walk away.” Deadpool’s voice was sweet, but it had a testy undertone. They had run into each other too many times not to get on each other’s nerves. With Peter in the business of saving people and Deadpool the equivalent to a gun for hire, getting in each other’s way seemed to be just part of life.

One of the blades spun, and Peter let off a bit of web that missed its mark.

There was a sickening plop followed by the sound of the body collapsing. Peter gritted his teeth and jumped down from his vantage point, angry at himself, angry that he had probably been cost his lead. Deadpool’s blades turned on him now.

“You—”

“Devilishly handsome man? I know. Told you, you should have gone home.” Peter growled at the his patronizing tone.

“‘s my dob!” He shouted at him, running at him. Deadpool just side-stepped him.

“Please, fighting a sick Spider-Man isn’t worth the effort,” he scoffed, sheathing the blades, and bending down to pick up the severed head. Peter recovered and managed to slam his fist into the other man’s shoulder.

“Fuh—” Peter bit down on his lower lip, his knuckles throbbing from throwing that punch, but at least Deadpool dropped the head and gripped his shoulder for a second before he rotated his shoulder back into place and the cracks in his bones healed.

“Fuck me, the arachnid can still punch. We didn’t expect that. Not at all.” Peter was taken off guard for a moment, straightening out of any fighting stance he had when Deadpool replied with his own punch.

“Unngh,” Peter cried out, his eyes watering, his nose bleeding, and he felt it dribbling over his lips.

“See—no match. Go home, Spidey.” He retrieved the head a second time, unamused by Peter’s stubbornness to fight. “Your mask is up, by the way,” he murmured, and Peter’s eyes opened wide despite his gushing nose. He fumbled, feeling the material just up over his nose, and his heart beat quickened as he forced it down. Deadpool didn’t stick around he noticed. He got what he came for, Peter thought bitterly, forcing himself out of the alleyway, going home.

Maybe he did need to take some time off. He made stupid mistakes. If his mask hadn’t been on at all… He would have been so screwed.

–

“Peter Parker!”

“I’m thorry Aun’ May.”

“What did I tell you?” Her face had the distinct impression of wondering _how_ Peter had gone out tonight, but she didn’t ask it. Even Peter was beginning to wonder when she’d find out his secret, hidden beneath street clothes he snuck from his bedroom before walking into the house through the front door. He had caught a glimpse of her checking his room and finding the empty bed.

“Go thraight to my room,” he muttered, nose rendered useless by snot and blood. He really should have stayed home tonight. He’d worried Aunt May, and even Deadpool had gotten away with what he did. _He would’ve gotten away with it_ anyway; a voice reminded him in the back of his head. _All because you were too addled to handle him_.

“To go straight to—” Peter groaned, cutting Aunt May’s repetition of his words short. “Peter?”

“‘m fine Aun’ May,” he dismissed her, and she cupped his face, looking at his nose. He didn’t fight her grip; it was better to let her than to accidentally hurt her—even though he was better about his super-strength now, it was still something that he wouldn’t risk.

“And you got yourself beaten up, too,” she fretted more to herself. She looked at him worriedly, and he felt worse having caused her grief. It seemed like that was the only thing he could do since his uncle was killed. “Peter, go get cleaned up. We’ll…talk about it later.” Her gentle voice and the soft squeeze of her hands on his shoulders made him feel wearier than he had been going out on patrol.

“Yeth Aun’ May.” He trudged upstairs to his room, taking off the t-shirt, jeans, and the infamous red and blue costume before stowing it away quickly. A bath would probably do him good. He found his towel and wrapped it around himself, shivering as he made his way into the bathroom to wash up.

Little did Peter know, a certain mercenary had paid witness to his stripping—curious to see how the spider would fare getting home by himself. A smirk twisted the features beneath the mask he wore, and his fingers tightened their grip on the severed head he still held.

“Looks like Spider-Man is really Spider _boy_ ,” he murmured to himself. “Oh baby boy…I never would’ve expected this. Looks like I know your secret.”


	2. Chapter 2

Peter remained at home, bedridden for the next few days, and his cold had turned into a fever. He semi-thought it was punishment, too, for getting caught going out, like his body felt guilty he had worried Aunt May. Gwen came over and dropped off the work he had missed Friday afternoon—luckily it wasn’t too much. The fever finally broke on Sunday, but he was too exhausted to even think about doing work or going out on patrol.

He lazily made his way downstairs, looking in the fridge for something to eat. His stomach was growling, but he didn’t want to make the effort to cook something so he rummaged around, hoping Aunt May had leftovers. He saw some chicken and mashed potatoes. That’ll work. He smiled, placing the food on a plate and microwaving it for a bit. I've got some Sprite left upstairs, so I'm good on that, he thought mildly as he waited for the chicken and mashed potatoes to heat.

When the microwave beeped obnoxiously at him, he retrieved his food, grabbed a fork, and made his way back upstairs to his room. He shut the door with his foot and very nearly made it to his bed before he started, seeing a familiar red and black suit out of the corner of his eye.

“D-Deadpool?” He shrieked and the plate, chicken, and mashed potatoes went flying into the air—or almost. Peter managed to save his dinner, but only just. He shakily set down the food on his bed, the fork clattering as he set it on the plate. Deadpool knows where I live. The shock of it was still present, but horror of the fact was settling in. Deadpool is in my room.

“The one and only, baby boy,” he said casually. Peter felt cold and exposed in front of the mercenary. “I bet you’re wondering what I could possibly want to do with a _normal_ person, such as yourself. Aren’t you, Peter Parker?” He swallowed. Play it cool, he told himself, play it cool.

“Uh—yeah, w-what are you doing here?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you about a friend of mine. Actually, he’s not really a friend. Not really an enemy, but he seemed a little off his game the last time I saw him.” Peter nodded, lowering himself onto his bed, next to the food, trying to act natural.

“We followed him home and had a nice surprise.”

“D-did you?” Peter stuttered, being obtuse on purpose.

“Yeah, turns out he’s not what we thought he was at all.” His voice had gotten considerably more serious than Peter had ever heard. He kept his eyes trained on the man, but Deadpool hadn’t moved from his corner of the room. He drew in a breath slowly, feeling as though he had a gun to his head. It wouldn’t have been the first time the merc had done it.

“A-and what was that?” He ventured, hoping against hope that he wasn’t right, that Deadpool didn’t know a thing. The mercenary had his arms crossed over his chest, and if Peter could guess at the expression, he’d say it was predatory. Dread filled him at that thought.

“You tell me, _Spidey_.” Peter knew that it was leading up to this, but it still scared him. This man could have him on every hit-list out there. He knew where he lived. He knew who he really was. That reality frightened him more than what the merc could personally do to him.

“What do you want?”

“You to stop interfering with my jobs.”

“I can’t do that—”

“Sure you can—I basically work the same way you do.”

“But you’re killing people.”

“Details.” Deadpool started whispering then, as if he was debating with himself—probably was—before stepping forward. “And I have all of yours, baby boy.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You sure you want to do that?” No. No, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that, but he could handle himself. He couldn’t let Deadpool get away with killing people at his leisure.

“Yes.” Deadpool clicked his tongue at him condescendingly. “What?”

“I heard you have a lot of friends, too. And your aunt.” That was too far, though, and Deadpool knew it when the teenager launched himself at the mercenary. His hands gripped his shoulders and shoved him against the wall. “Be rough with me, please,” he mocked, half-laughing.

“You leave Aunt May out of this,” Peter growled through gritted teeth. Deadpool chuckled a little, but Peter shoved him a little harder, his hands gripping tighter. He could almost feel his bones breaking.

“All right, you’ve twisted my arm.” Peter’s eyes only narrowed at him, and Deadpool added, “That was so lame” before dissolving into laughter. Peter let go of him, his hands going through his mussed, brown hair, making it even messier. “Maybe it’d be nice if we hung out.” The younger wasn’t listening; he was too busy fretting over what could happen to his world to realize that Deadpool had recovered from laughing. “With the kid? What good would that do?”

“What?” Peter said, turning to look at the mercenary, his hair wild and his eyes slightly tired. Deadpool gave a shrug in nonchalance, his face neutral as far as Peter could tell.

“What could it hurt?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us, companionship, you know. Whatever that entails.” Peter tilted his head then. Did this conversation get weird, or was it just Deadpool?

Truly confused, Peter asked, “Why would you want us to hang out?” The teen didn’t know how long it’d been since there had actually been someone the merc trusted enough to call a friend, in fact, he didn’t really know much about him except that he was a mercenary and that he was damn good with the weapons he used. Oh, and that his most annoying attribute was his mouth.

“Good question. I’ll let you know when I figure it out—but since you don’t want things happening to your friends and family, it seems like it’d be a fair trade to amuse me.”

“Stop joking,” Peter glared at him.

“Who’s joking?” There seemed to be a hint of a smile with those words. “Be seeing you, baby boy.” With a roll of his shoulders, Deadpool crossed to the window and threw it open to crawl outside. Once he was outside, he was gone, but Peter didn’t bother chasing him.

So they were supposed to be friends? Just like that? Peter wasn’t buying it.

“I’ll break his nose if he comes here again,” the boy vowed, shivering as he felt a chill down his spine. He sat down then and turned his attention to eating his lukewarm supper. He was still too out of it to deal with that psychopath’s eccentricities.


	3. Chapter 3

“Peter,” Gwen hissed at him. He mumbled something in his sleep, and then felt something hard hit the back of his head.

“Ow…what Gwen?” He noticed that she held a book in her hands and her eyes were flicking to the front of the room. Oh. Shit.

“Mr. Parker, thank you for joining us. Want to enlighten us on how to do dimensional analysis?” Peter gaped for a minute before looking at the board. He knew what it was. He knew what it was ages ago.

“It allows for you to quantify differing units into a same unit without the numbers losing their initial value, sir,” he answered mechanically. The teacher looked satisfied, albeit a little ticked.

“Don’t make a habit of sleeping in my class,” he replied with a cold tone before continuing on with lecture. Gwen gave him a look that clearly stated ‘What are you doing’, but Peter just gave her a sly smirk, settling back into his chair. He hadn’t really tried to fall asleep, but last night had been weird and nerve wracking, and it felt like he had just closed his eyes when Aunt May was waking him up for school. When the bell rang, he gathered up his things and Gwen accompanied him to his locker.

“We still on for tonight?” She asked, nudging him with her elbow playfully. He laughed a little.

“Yeah, definitely,” he told her, nodding his head and stuffing a couple books in his locker before pulling out a few more from the first half of the day—homework. He grimaced at the prospect of tackling the writing assignment. The paper should have been finished three days ago, but with being sick and Deadpool being weird, he kind of fell behind.

“You better not cancel on me, Peter Parker,” she grinned at him, leaning up on her toes to peck his cheek.

“Me? Cancel? Never,” he teased back, smiling and blushing from his girlfriend’s kiss. She gave him a knowing look before walking away, backwards.

“Seven o’clock,” she told him, reminding him for the eighth time today. He nodded, and she turned around, satisfied with his answer. It was dinner with Mrs. Stacey, Gwen’s younger brothers, and Gwen tonight.

He had been anxious around her family after the incident that occurred at OsCorp with Dr. Connors, and her dad, the late police chief. They were civil to him, though her brothers weren’t exactly friendly with him anymore, and her mom had a bit of an edge to her voice when she spoke with him normally. It wasn’t undeserving, either. He never told them what he had promised Mr. Stacey.

He got home, wanting to procrastinate his English homework even further (it was an analysis of Animal Farm), but he knew he couldn’t. He sighed, climbing the stairs to his room, catching sight of his parents’ wedding picture hanging on the wall. He needed to start looking for another lead, too. He couldn’t just forget about them.

“Spidey!”

Peter’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

“What—what are you doing here?” He hissed, stumbling over his words as he clutched a hand to his heart.

“Considering what the contingency plan was—”

“You can’t just show up here anytime you like...” Peter trailed off, and he shut the door quickly, glaring at Deadpool, sitting on his bed.

“Nobody was here when I showed up, keep your shirt on—or don’t,” he joked; at least he _hoped_ he was joking. Peter rolled his eyes at him, showing he wasn’t affected by it.

“I don’t have time for this right now—I-I have a book report,” Peter supplied the excuse, even though he _really_ didn’t want to start it now.

“That’s boring. Come out and play with me. We can get tacos and—”

“I already have plans, Deadpool. With this book.” Peter flashed it. “And my computer,” he added flatly.

“I’ll wait.”

“And my girlfriend.” The masked man stared at him, and Peter moved to sit down, not bothering to get into a staring contest game with the psychopath.

“A little touchy today—got his spandex in a twist? Maybe. Should we help him straighten it out?” Peter bristled at that, heat creeping into his cheeks at Deadpool’s aside.

“No, you don’t,” he muttered, turning on the computer, logging in and seeing his and Gwen’s picture on the desktop. He remembered that day; a shining sun, the birds in the trees, a very strategic placement of his camera, and then him having to run off back into the city to stop the bad guys from getting away with destroying it.

“That’s extremely mushy, even for you, Spidey.” Deadpool’s voice was right next to his ear, and Peter jumped again.

“Damn it—”

“Language,” the older man teased, only to have Peter glare pointblank at him.

“You’re one to talk,” Peter countered, grabbing his glasses before pulling up Microsoft Word and staring at the blank document. He exhaled, placing his hands on the keyboard, starting to type out the header and title.

“You’re not really going to call it that, are you?” Deadpool commented, reading over his shoulder. Peter tossed him a look before returning to page, beginning the introductory paragraph. “Seriously? You’re going to go with that?” Peter sighed and turned to look at the other. It was worse than having a dog.

“What do you know?” Deadpool somehow took on a look of complete and utter offense that shown through his mask.

“Me? Not know anything? Baby boy, you wound me,” he said theatrically. “Besides, you look like you’re struggling.”

“I’m not.”

“C’mon, we can’t let you start it off like that—it’d be a disservice. It’d deflate your…do we say that?” Deadpool took a gratuitous sweep of Peter’s body in the chair before continuing, “Yes—image.” Peter blinked at him, unamused, from over the rims of his glasses.

“Image? What image?” He asked him, trying to seem disinterested, but at the same time, he was curious to know how the psychopath saw him.

“The ‘I care, but I don’t want to look like I care too much’ image,” Deadpool supplied, albeit lamely. “Anyway, you need to start big and narrow down to what you really want to talk about in your paper. Then you take that part and write a few paragraphs with evidence that supports it all. Make it obvious.” Peter raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. He knew he needed the paragraphs with evidence, but it was usually add it in so that there was some form of quotation or paraphrasing added in for the sake of it being added.

Though, the longer he just sat there, listening to Deadpool jabber on, the more time he wasted. Hell, if it was horrible after he finished it, he could probably fix it before class tomorrow. “Okay, if I do it like you say, will you promise to be quiet?”

“I can’t make that promise.”

“ _Try_ ,” Peter retorted dryly, and the mercenary nodded, to his surprise. Peter turned back to the computer, rewriting the first paragraph to the specifications where the thesis statement narrowed it all down. He moved onto the body then, riffling through the book every now and again to quote a salient point that tied back to what he was analyzing. Two hours went by before Peter had really noticed, and he jumped when Deadpool spoke. He had thought he had left the man had been so quiet.

“Asshole that runs the show is overthrown for another asshole to take his place, unsuspectingly—of course—leaving the people exactly where they were before the rebellion,” he rattled off, reading over Peter’s shoulder.

“It doesn’t say that,” Peter muttered in exasperation, saving the piece to print off later. Though, really, it wasn’t too far from the truth.

“I was summarizing.”

“Uh huh,” Peter nodded, shutting down the laptop and closing the screen. He removed his glasses and stretched, a few of his joints popping. “Well…uh…it was nice…hanging out with you?” He ended in a question, looking at Deadpool, hoping he would leave without further prompting. He had to get ready for Gwen’s.

“Goodbye? Already? We’ll see him again later. After all, things to do, people to see…” He trailed off, a smirk tugging at his lips from underneath the mask he wore. It sent a shiver down his spine. He had a feeling that meant the mercenary had another mark tonight. “And we have a date later!” He exclaimed with an even more disturbing amount of exuberance. Peter stared at him.

“We don’t have a—”

“Someone’s a bit needy. It’s not with you,” Deadpool corrected mildly. “Though, you’re welcome to crash if you get _lonely_.” The merc left through the window right as Aunt May called up the stairs,

“Peter, are you home?” How did he…? Peter shook his head.

“Yeah, Aunt May. I’m about to go see Gwen, though,” he replied back. Definitely going to have to go out on patrol tonight, Peter thought with a groan, rubbing his face with his hands before getting up and rummaging through his closet for ‘nice’ clothes.


	4. Chapter 4

It was silent at the table. One of Gwen’s younger brothers slurped at his juice, and Peter merely picked at the vegetables on his plate. He didn’t know how to feel comfortable here. It still didn’t feel okay to be here after making that promise. Gwen shot him a look and motioned slightly with her eyes for him to go ahead and go outside. They’d finish their night out there, and Mrs. Stacey would more than likely bring out slices of the chocolate mousse pie she made to them. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, pushing away from the seat, and moving for the door that’d lead him out onto the balcony.

Gwen wasn’t too far behind him, her fingers lacing with his, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m sorry tonight’s sort of a bust,” she apologized to him, resting her blond head on his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” Peter brushed it off and wrapped an arm around her, glad for the normal she brought to his life. His lips brushed her forehead, and she leaned up to catch his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Um—pie?” Sure enough, Gwen’s mother had taken it upon herself to bring out the dessert. Gwen pulled away from Peter, and he followed her, taking his slice as Gwen took hers. “If it gets too chilly, be sure to come inside,” Mrs. Stacey advised, and both teens nodded before going to sit down on the little patio couch.

“Mm, it’s been a while since Mom’s made this stuff,” she gushed, stabbing into the fluffy chocolate, whipped cream, and graham cracker crust. Mrs. Stacey was a good cook, so it wasn’t any surprise to him how the concoction tasted when he took a bite of his.

“I can tell, you’ve got whipped cream everywhere,” he teased her, dotting her nose with some of his.

“Did you just?” She asked him, before there was a bit of a war, one ending with getting the sweet dessert practically everywhere on both of their faces. Peter leaned in, licking at her cheeks and sucking the corner of her mouth. He liked how chocolate always tasted a little bit sweeter when it was combined with Gwen’s skin. He felt her kisses, too, though, they would need to actually wash their faces to get the sticky feeling off.

“Mm,” he hummed, kissing her for a moment, smiling. “I’m going to have to go soon…patrolling…” He didn’t want to, but he had to, especially if that psycho was going to be out and about. He couldn’t let someone else die because of him not being prepared. Gwen pouted, but she understood. She probably understood better than anyone else, with her dad having been a police chief.

She didn’t say anything to that, just pulled on his collar to bring their lips together, her tongue tracing his upper lip, his tongue reaching out to meet hers. “Be careful, Spider-Man,” she whispered against his mouth as she broke the kiss.

“I will,” he promised, pulling away from her, and saying goodbye to the rest of the family as he exited through the front door.

–

He found Deadpool not a moment too soon; however, he was a little stumped to see that the man wasn’t harming anyone. He was just merely sitting on the rooftop. As Peter approached, he caught sight of him pulling down his mask, but he didn’t see anything besides the fact that he still had half of a burrito in his other hand.

“Hey baby boy,” he said, his voice soft. “Where’s the fire? Girlfriend kick you out? Needed to see me?” Peter ignored his playful banter.

“You don’t have to stop eating on my account—besides, you know what my face looks like; wouldn’t it be fair to let me see yours?” Peter didn’t notice that the merc had stiffened slightly, just knew that he had become more silent than he expected. “You know…since we’re supposed to ‘hang out’…or whatever,” Peter added, moving to sit down beside the insane man.

After a pause, Deadpool laughed. “No, I don’t think you want to look underneath this old thing,” he told him. Peter felt his curiosity pique, and he turned to look at him.

“Why not?” It was an innocent enough question; especially for someone who didn’t know really anything about the mercenary other than he killed people and was crazy and made inappropriate jokes. There was another hearty laugh from the merc, before he tossed the uneaten half of the burrito to the empty street below. “Hey—”

A hand supported against his throat, the cloth over his mouth becoming more suffocating than usual as he was pulled into a kiss by said crazy, inappropriate person. His eyes widened and his hands flung out in front of him, shoving the merc back. He scrambled to his feet, gaping as his heart hammered and his cheeks flared from embarrassment. “What the hell, Deadpool?” However, the man was far from repentant, laughing raucously from almost the other side of the roof.

Angrily, Peter shot a bit of web at his mouth, effectively silencing him, though he was still shaking from suppressed mirth. Peter glared at him. “It wasn’t funny! You don’t _do_ that to people, Deadpool,” he criticized, watching as the man sat up and took out a little pocket knife, slicing open a hole in the web and his mask with a flourish as Peter approached him.

“Wade,” he answered back. He paused, tilting his head slightly.

“What?” Deadpool got to his feet, smirking and chuckling still.

“My name’s Wade. That make you happy, Petey?” Peter gritted his teeth, eyes narrowed. “What? It levels it, doesn’t it? I’ve got your name; you sort of saw my face…ugly thing that it is…” Peter wasn’t sure he heard him correctly as Wade’s voice dropped almost too low from him to hear it clearly. “You know where I live, too.”

“No, I don’t.”

“No he doesn’t.” They both spoke at the same time, and Peter felt a little more uneasy. “We can show him—that’ll make us even, right, Spidey?” He teased.

“I…” But damn it all if he wasn’t curious, if he didn’t want to know who this ‘Wade’ was. It’d level the playing field at least. He wouldn’t feel so…cornered. “All right, but then I’ve got to go home.” Though, Peter didn’t really get to get the full sentence out as the merc took his hand and began to drag him in the direction opposite his home, out towards a more dangerous side of the city.


	5. Chapter 5

When they got there, Peter was definitely on edge. He didn’t know what he had expected, but he had expected something a little more than this, a little less…dangerous. Deadpool led him through the first floor of the complex, and Peter shivered, feeling a bit of a draft. Something was leaking, too. He could hear it dripping into a pail in one of the darkened corners. They climbed the stairs, wood creaking.

“I don’t usually come this way,” he confessed, causing Peter to shoot him an irritated stare that read, ‘Then why did we come this way?’ Truly, he hoped the state of the corridors and stairwell weren’t tell-tale signs, but he was due for a disappointment there. Deadpool opened the door to the apartment, which squeaked on its hinges.

“Don’t you lock it?” Peter asked him, gingerly stepping over the threshold. He couldn’t tell if it was a little better or a little worse. Paint was peeling from the walls, and the border that had once looked _maybe_ bright yellow was green and faded.

“Nah, never really saw the need to—you know, someone bust in and bang! Taken care of.” He pantomimed shooting, and Peter swallowed, his eyes slowly taking in the one bedroom apartment. A couch sat in front of an old box TV, who had ears attached that were duct taped. Clothes—socks mostly—littered the floor with some chip bags and soda cans. He was pretty sure the smell was due to some sort of Mexican food—authentic or not.

Peter felt a thrill of disgust going through him. _Never_ in all of his life had he ever _wanted_ to clean.

In his surveying the home of one Deadpool, he had lost the red and black clad man. “Do you want a coke?” He called, and Peter immediately denied the offer. It was so strange being here, and it made him shiver with unease. Deadpool came back though, looking around a corner where Peter assumed the kitchen was. His attention was drawn back to the rundown sofa as well as the sketchy stains that adorned the room. It even looked like there were cigarette burns, and something that looked like…

“I wouldn’t touch it,” his voice cautioned, and Peter jumped a little, not realizing his hand had extended out for the dark stain against the wall.

“What…is it?” But Peter was sure he already knew, especially with how the stain splattered over the surface. He turned to look at Deadpool, but the mercenary just pulled out a gun, spinning it around on his finger like cowboys did in the old western movies.

“Played Russian Roulette a few times on that couch, no big deal,” he said nonchalantly, holstering the gun after a final revolution. The teen nodded, trying not to let that fact get to him. None of this was turning out to be something he'd expect from Deadpool—some of it, sure. He knew the man was crazy, but he didn’t think he was _that_ insane. Peter glanced over at him; trying to play off the information he had been given.

“Was it fun?” He asked with a nervous laugh. It took him a moment to answer, and when he did, his voice sounded forced into a joking tone.

“Oh yeah, nothing beats it.” Peter swallowed, and he stiffened when he felt Deadpool’s hand between his shoulder blades. “I wouldn’t play it if I were you, baby boy.” Peter pulled away, his nervousness increasing because this was a side of Deadpool he didn’t know if he was ready to know, or if he even wanted to know it.

“I…I don’t plan on it, Deadpool,” he somewhat agreed, looking over to the window, almost longing to escape. He was definitely out of his comfort zone, and he wanted to rectify it—even if that meant they were back at his place with Deadpool annoying him in his bedroom while Aunt May was downstairs, none the wiser.

“Need to go? ‘Course he does, school’s tomorrow, isn’t it? Even if school is really useless in the end…not like we needed it—”

“Let’s go see a movie sometime,” Peter blurted out without thinking, cutting off Deadpool’s ramblings with himself. Instantly, the teenager wished he could retract the words, but they had already been said. Peter hid his grimace behind a smile as the merc looked up at him. Peter could just tell that his eyebrow had risen a bit beneath the mask. If Peter could have seen the expression that overcame the man’s face beneath the mask, he would’ve seen a genuine smile there.

“Yeah! There’s this new one coming out next week, with ninjas and stuff like that!” His enthusiasm made him seem more like a kid, more like the Deadpool Peter knew. Though, he was slowly coming to a realization that the mercenary he knew wasn’t all that there was to him. “It’s going to be awesome!”

“All right—let’s go see it then,” Peter recovered, though he still didn’t want to be cooped up in a movie theater with the insane, loud merc.

“Sweet!” Peter caught the infinitesimal movement of Deadpool making to wrap his arms around him, and he dodged the hug. He felt like he had given the man enough of his time and even promised him more time together. He glanced at the window and edged closer to it, opening it. “Yeah, that’s probably a better idea than the door.”

“See you…later,” Peter offered, giving him a small wave before clambering out of the window and onto the fire escape.

“Bye Petey.” He could hear the wistful tone of his voice echoing through his head the entire way home. When he arrived, he quickly changed before approaching the front door and walking through it like a normal human being.

“I’m home Aunt May.”

“How was your date with Gwen?” She asked him, walking into the entry to greet him. It took him a moment before he responded; having to actively think back to the dinner with Gwen, the chocolate pie, their kiss considering all that had transpired that evening. Peter yawned and nodded.

“It was good. Her mom made a really good chocolate pie,” he informed her, and she gave him a concerned glance.

“How is everything?” She questioned, and he knew she was meaning if they were warming up to him again.

“I don’t know, Aunt May…I think it’s just going to take…time,” he murmured, yawning again. “I think I’m going to go to bed, now.”

“All right, Peter. Sleep tight.” Peter smiled and walked over to her, hugging her and kissing her cheek. He then pulled away to climb the stairs, mulling over tonight’s events, one of them more prevalent than all the others, and he didn’t get much sleep again.


	6. Chapter 6

“I thought the movie comes out Friday,” Peter groaned, seeing the merc in his bedroom for the fifth time in the past few days. Deadpool had taken the liberty of showing up whenever he felt like it, and he caught the man a couple of times when he was trying to sleep. There was just something unappealing about waking up and seeing someone staring at you expectantly, especially when it was the Merc with the Mouth. Peter was pretty sure he had dented the man’s head on those occasions, too, but they didn’t seem to leave lasting impressions.

“It does, but I found the trailers, and I found a teaser clip for the movie that’s ten minutes long. It’s going to blow your mind, I swear it.” His mouth was moving faster than usual, and Peter sank onto the bed, massaging his temples and using his feet to nudge Wade further down the bed. Maybe this was what the man had needed, a friend, but why did it have to be him, of all people? Peter wasn’t even sure he liked him all that much, though they had been hanging out a lot.

“I’m sure it will,” Peter agreed tiredly. It was two days until the movie, two days where he’d be in public with the mercenary, two days where he’d have to try and keep the man quiet for a full two hours. Who did he piss off in a past life to get this?

“Why’re you tired, Petey?” Wade patted his calf as Peter settled into the bed, cuddling his pillow.

“Because I went to bed really late last night thanks to you,” he commented dryly, his eyes shut, not really sleeping but not fully awake either. Last night had been a night where Peter was trailing someone suspicious, but Deadpool practically gave him away, forcing him to have to change tactics to lose both the merc and reestablish his tail on the man he had been following. However, he lost his man after Deadpool chased him practically through Central Park and back, which put him back in his own bed around four in the morning.

“Aw, Petey, I thought we were having a fun game of cat and mouse—I won obviously.”

“Obviously,” he muttered snidely, not noticing that the hand had remained on his calf. He did notice when it moved upwards, though, and when the weight of the bed shifted slightly, that his heavy hand rested against his hip. Peter stiffened, eyes shooting open. He withdrew from him, heart beating in quick succession against his ribs, his legs pulled up to his chest.

“I will punch you,” Peter threatened. There was a smirk thrown at him, but Deadpool’s hands lifted up in surrender.

“All right, all right keep your shirt on—or don’t. I’ll let you sleep. Be ready for Friday, though! I’m picking you up after school, we’ll go straight there. Midtown, right?” Wade seemed positively elated that they were going to the movies. “And after we can go get something to eat—”

“Yeah…and uh, maybe,” Peter tried to interject. He didn’t mind going to the movies, but dinner, too? Wasn’t that…pushing it?

“I’ll let you pick the place—even though Mexican food is probably the best invention known to mankind—”

“Wade.” He used it to get his attention.

“What?” There was a sort of kicked puppy look about him, and Peter felt guilt creep into his belly.

“Let’s just…play it by ear?” He hedged, not wanting to outright decline, but also knowing he was going to have to when the ending credits rolled.

“Right, sure. That’s sounds like a plan, baby boy—oh. And have sweet, wet dreams with me in them! Goodnight!” The man bolted from his room, missing the blush that rose over Peter’s cheeks and the snarky remark that died in the teenager’s throat. He let out a sigh, punching his pillow to fluff it. He was definitely weird, but Peter was sure that was because he didn’t really have any friends.

Did that make them friends, though? He didn’t really think so. It was more out of necessity (fear) that Deadpool would give him away if they didn’t hang out. Peter got up and turned off the light before snuggling down into his bed. He did have to admit, the merc wasn’t _that_ annoying…just full of misunderstood exuberance…and maybe some inappropriate comments.


	7. Chapter 7

It was lunch on Friday, and Peter had already taken his seat, munching a sandwich Aunt May had made him, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. He didn’t want to get into it with Flash today. Plus, he had that movie with Deadpool after school… He groaned inwardly, his head dropping to rest on the table.

“Hey Spider-Man.” He jumped, but relaxed as he registered Gwen’s soft voice in his ear, playful as she slid into the seat next to him. “I’m going to miss you this weekend,” she said. She and her family were going to her grandparents to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary. “It’s a shame you couldn’t come.”

“Yeah…sitting around playing bridge was exactly what I wanted to do this weekend,” he joked half-heartedly. The blonde nudged him lightly, a smile on her lips.

“You know you could always come over,” she urged, but Peter shook his head.

“Nah, I don’t want to impose.” She made a face at him, but Peter merely wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in closer. “I’ll see you when you get back. We can go watch a movie or something,” he added, kissing her cheek. Movies with Gwen were always great. They’d go to the AMC where the armrests lifted up, and you could cuddle the entire movie. It was something he was probably going to be longing for by the time three-thirty rolled around.

The lunch period was over much too soon in Peter’s opinion, and the following classes could have gone on for much longer than they did because it seemed the more he didn’t want the end of the school day to come, the closer it got, and then it was here.

He slowly got up from his desk, following the queue out of the chemistry room to join the flood in the hallway. He just hoped that Deadpool would just wait for him and not come barging into the school and make a scene. He placed his books in his locker—thankful for the no homework weekend ahead of him—and shut it again. He caught up with Gwen, giving her a proper kiss.

“Have a good weekend,” he told her genuinely, and she smiled back at him.

“You, too.” She supposed to meet her family out front, but Peter hung back, waving goodbye to her, not wanting to have another awkward interaction with her mom and brothers. He only ventured outside when he figured they were gone, waiting for the merc to show up, knowing that the man knew exactly where he went to school and when it let out.

It wasn’t until all of the students had left the campus that he came to pick him up.

“Petey!”

“You’re a little late, aren’t you?” He asked him, holding his skateboard in hand as he looked at the man who was still in costume.

“Eh, I figured I’d let the cattle get out of the chutes before I came to retrieve you,” he explained him nonchalantly. “Besides, the next showing doesn’t start until five so I just took the liberty of taking my time to get here. You’re not mad are you?” The rate that this man’s mouth was able to move made it hard for Peter to follow the conversation, but he managed, answering a beat late.

“No… Why aren’t you wearing…normal clothes?” He had decided to switch from explaining himself to asking why Deadpool was still in his suit. He knew where the man lived, and they were about to see a movie together. He didn’t have to keep wearing it.

“My costume’s more flattering, shows off my good side,” the merc answered cheekily, flexing slightly just to show off. Peter rolled his eyes. So the guy is a little weird, he concluded mentally, waiting on the man to pick a direction. “Oh! Right, movie—this way,” he pointed to the right and started walking off. Peter followed after him, shaking his head. A lot weird, he corrected himself as they made their way to the theater.

Deadpool got them to the ticket stand of an older movie theater he had never been to before now. It looked to Peter like one of those theaters that aired the horrible slasher films always and sometimes had a few of the mainstream titles. An older man with a stuffy voice asked for the movie they were going to be seeing and how many tickets they wanted to purchase, but before Peter could interject about it, Deadpool had said ‘Two’ and paid up the twelve-fifty for the tickets.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, heat creeping over his face. This _wasn’t_ a date.

“I’m dragging you to a movie you’re probably going to hate—it’s only fair.” Deadpool sounded unfazed by his purchasing the tickets, like it was natural. “We’ve got someone to watch it with—we’ve got _Spidey_ to watch with us.” These words were filled with excitement but muttered so low that Peter wouldn’t have caught them if he had been standing so damn close to the merc.

Coughing, Peter pretended not to hear. “Do you want snacks?” Deadpool looked over at the counter, squinting at it more like, before striding over to the counter.

“Well, yeah, of course I want snacks. A movie isn’t a movie without popcorn, after all, and Twizzlers just make it taste that much better because salty and sweet are a great combination,” Deadpool rattled off in his quick speech. Peter simply fell into step with him, watching the girl stare at them with a bored expression from underneath the heavily applied eyeliner and her piercings.

“So you’ll take a large?” She drawled, staring unamused at the talkative man in a costume. Deadpool grinned at her.

“Yup, and a Twizzlers, and two large pops, one Dr. Pepper…” He trailed off and Peter interjected, “Sprite.” She rang in the order and grabbed the large cups and filled them with ice and the specified soda before getting the large bucket of popcorn filled. Peter was ready this time though, his debit card proffered to her to swipe it. Deadpool only raised an eyebrow at his actions, but Peter ignored him, taking his card back and pocketing his wallet. He then took a straw and stabbed it through the lid of his Sprite. He carried that and the popcorn, and Wade took the Twizzlers and his Dr. Pepper.

They walked to the ticket taker, who stripped their tickets to half their original size, and pointed them in the direction of the right room they’d be viewing the film. Deadpool was practically bouncing as they took their seats. Peter simply shook his head, smiling faintly as the theater went dark for the previews to begin playing.

The movie, in all honesty, was something that Peter could see Wade being into, cheesy lines, epic fights—some not so epic fights—and one individual that didn’t seem to have the right timing for anything he endeavored to do. He enjoyed it though, especially with some of Wade’s side commentary, which was something he never once thought he would.

“He’s going to drool again, watch—oh buddy, keep it in next time. You know she wants you; that’s just scaring her off.” Peter snorted, stealing one of the last handfuls from the bucket of popcorn. His eyebrows knitted together, and he glanced over at his…friend? Is that what Wade was now? He hadn’t seen him lift his mask at all, but he knew he hadn’t eaten the popcorn all by himself.

“What’s the matter, baby boy?” He purred, and Peter shivered slightly from the sound of his voice.

“Nothing,” he replied, heat creeping into his cheeks, turning his attention back onto the screen. He didn’t want to ask about it, considering it was as if the man was trying to keep himself secret. Peter figured he needed to respect that, or he was going to end up in an uncomfortable situation again.


	8. Chapter 8

It seemed like they were spending an exorbitant amount of time together after that first movie. Wade came over just before Aunt May got home, and Peter would see him while he was on patrol. It wasn’t that Peter was actively seeking him or anything. It was probably more likely that Deadpool just had a ‘Spidey sense’ in the most literal interpretation of the phrase.

It was getting so often, he had started talking about him to Gwen. Tonight, it was Deadpool’s perpetual desire for chimichangas. She was smirking at him as he finished a half-eaten slice of pizza practically forgotten in his hand.

“Is this the start of a bromance?” She teased; her freckles making her look that much cuter as she poked fun at him. Peter shook his head.

“What?” The syllable was drawn out longer than necessary. “No. I don’t think so at least.” He made a face. A bromance with Deadpool? Peter took a large drink of coke, nearly choking on it at the thought of the kiss he had given him. He had a coughing fit for a second, and Gwen’s face morphed into concern.

“Peter?” He nodded, holding up a finger before coughing a final time into his fist.

“’M fine,” he wheezed slightly, drinking some more of his soda. “Went down the wrong pipe.” She shook her head slightly, picking up her pizza and biting into it. That prompted Peter, finding his slice in his hand. He munched on it, pensive over how the careless conversation had come around to the awkward moments that Peter and Wade had shared.

“I’m glad, Peter,” she said after a moment. “You don't really hang out with anyone else…you know?” She smiled at him fondly. “As much as I love being your best friend and girlfriend, a girl needs time with her girls.” Peter’s brown eyes met her blue, and he felt a bit of a blush on his face as he finished eating his cheesy, pepperoni goodness.

She got him better than anyone else—well, maybe Aunt May had her beat on a few things, but that was it. She knew when to joke and when to be serious, and truthfully, she was all he really needed. He sipped on his coke as she finished eating.

It was when he walked her back to her apartment complex that she asked what he was subconsciously hoping she wouldn't.

“So, when do I get to meet this ‘Wade’ character?” Peter laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head.

“Eh...I don’t think you'd really want to meet him. He’s...not normal,” he stated lamely.

“Oh and you’re normal, Spidey?” She teased, voice low in the balmy evening. He didn’t bother shushing her; there wasn’t anyone around. He just gave her his crooked smile and wrapped her in his arms.

“Yeah, I am,” he agreed, nodding his head a little before leaning in to kiss her. Her lips curved up into a smile, pressing back against his before she pulled away.

“Well, I still would like to meet your new friend,” she told him, smiling as she walked up the steps to the revolving, glass door.

“Maybe later,” he said, waving at her, hoping later would never come.

–

Peter was kind of glad for the lack of a specific loudmouth mercenary tonight while he was on patrol. He had decided to go where he had lost his lead. Maybe he could find something in the buildings there. It was better than just sitting at home doing searches that wouldn’t yield anything that he didn’t already know.

He arrived at the building, checking for an open window. His fingers pressed against the glass, finally finding one that inched up. His fingers slipped between it and the sill, lifting it up enough for him to squeeze through. He landed on the floor in a crouch, looking around him to see that the room was just a room. He crept to the door, opening it to the hall.

It was deserted and quiet, but Peter wasn’t unnerved by it. He simply made his way down the corridor, looking for stairs, another room, _something_ to further his search, to learn what his parents were trying to do or what they had found out. He peered through the next door’s window, seeing the stairwell. He moved into it, climbing onto the railing and shooting a piece of webbing up at the ceiling where it caught, and he lowered himself down quickly, moving into what looked like the basement of the building.

It was when he heard voices that his heart stopped, and he paused in his efforts, listening with rapt attention. However, he couldn’t hear anything above a muttering from where he was. He knelt down, slowly guiding himself into the room, trying to catch some of the discussion. When he did though, it wasn’t anything of consequence. Repairmen judging by the wrenches, loosening or tightening bolts, he couldn’t tell. He could just hear the metallic sound it made as they moved.

“Wasn’t there a lot more of this stuff?” One posed the question to the other, and Peter hid himself next to a bunch of junk, trying to have a better chance at listening.

“A lot more of what?”

“These boxes…”

“Yeah, but they’re all at OsCorp now. How many times do I have to tell you?” Peter wanted to urge him on for more. What was in the boxes? Why were they taken to OsCorp? But his sneaking ability failed him as he moved a little closer. He knocked over a heavy, metal tin. The sound echoed through the nearly silent room.

“What was that?”

“A ghost?” He heard what sounded like metal on bone.

“No you idiot, somebody must be in here.” The savvier of the two hissed at a considerably lower volume, “Find them. Kill them.” Escaping to the roof seemed like his most viable option, though it was getting there that was going to be the problem. He swallowed, seeing the two men lumbering from behind stacks of electrical wiring.

He waited for them to leave the room before crawling back to the stairs. “Boss, someone’s here—yes, right. Apologies…” The man’s voice shrank into the hall, and Peter concerned himself with getting back out in the open. He climbed onto the railing, taking the express train back to the roof. He maneuvered over the railing again, going back the way he had come.

Once he was through the window, he let out a sigh of relief. And the trip hadn’t been for nothing, too. I just need to figure out how to get into OsCorp again…

He was in mid-swing on his way back home when he felt something latch onto the back of his calf. It dug in, and Peter let out a hiss, looking down to know what had clamped down on his leg. He released the web, stumbling onto a rooftop. He turned to inspect it, his hand reaching out for the silver glint to rip it off.

It didn’t need much persuasion, but his suit tore and his calf bled. He looked up at the gadget, its teeth clinging to the blue fabric, his blood shining on it. He turned it over, studying it as he heard a soft click.

The object exploded loudly. Sparks caught onto the mask. He dropped the hot metal, hands going to his eyes trying to rub them out, his ears ringing. He wasn’t expecting the kick that followed it up. His ribs nearly buckled under the force, the air going out of him as he crashed into the window.

He coughed, rolling onto his hands and knees, nicking them on the glass-strewn floor. His vision blurred, the mask melted slightly. He heard the other clambering through the window. He moved as quickly as he could to his feet, facing it. The light filtering into the rooftop room didn’t give him enough to make out his attacker.

He lunged forward to retaliate, fist ready. A hand closed tight around his throat, lifting him from the ground. Peter gasped as the hand’s force on his throat close to crushing it. He kicked out and up, the heel of his foot connecting with his chin. The man holding him let go, and he flipped backward, landing in a crouched position.

He still couldn’t make out who it was, but a metallic glint caught the light just in time for Spider-Man to dive through the shattered window before concrete and more glass could imbed itself into his skin as it blew apart the room on the roof.

He ran to the edge, leaping and shooting his webbing, swinging out of harm’s way. He couldn’t go home like this. Aunt May would kill him, and she’d obviously know what he had been doing for the better part of a year and a half. He swallowed, pausing on another roof to tear off the eyes on his mask, turning back the smoke curling up from the one he had just escaped. He didn’t want to bother Gwen about this, either. She had a calculus test tomorrow.

He sighed, facing the direction that would take him over there. He didn’t even register that it seemed like a bad idea, just inconvenient at the distance it put between him and his home.

When he got to that particular window, he waited, breathing a little heavily. Maybe his ribs had broken, or at least cracked. They hurt now that there wasn’t any danger. He peered through the glass, wincing as he held a hand against his chest. He wasn’t sure if he should just go in or not, but finally, he pushed open the window and crawled through it.

There wasn’t a light on in the apartment, and maybe that was a good thing. He kind of preferred not seeing how much of a mess it was. He swallowed and called out uncertainly, “Wade?” He stepped into the living room more, gingerly so he wouldn’t trip over something and injure himself further. “Are you home?”

He was only met with silence. He made a face, and walked ahead to the kitchenette. He looked right, then left, seeing what looked like the entrance to a bathroom down a little hall. He walked towards it, turning on the light.

He smirked, seeing the shower curtain. It had rubber ducks on it. For some reason, that fits him, Peter thought to himself as he turned towards the mirror. Then Peter got a look at himself in the mirror. He made a face, shifting a little so he could look at his back.

“When did he grow scales?”

Peter screamed and leapt back, nearly taking out the shower curtain in his surprise. Deadpool on the other hand just laughed. “Oh, your face—it was priceless.”

“It’s not funny!” Peter yelled at him. Well, it might have been if he didn’t have glass decorating his back like…scales on a lizard, but he did. “Will you help me take them out?” He asked sheepishly, feeling a blush crawl over his masked cheeks.

“Sure, sweetums.” Peter stared at him, mortified having heard that nickname come out of his mouth. Maybe he should’ve bothered Gwen. She would’ve been upset, but at least she wouldn’t have called him… _that_. Wade simply turned Peter around to inspect the damage, clicking his tongue. “Baby boy, what happened?” Peter winced when he felt one piece pulled free from his back.

“I…” He hissed as his friend freed the large pieces of glass from his back, hearing them clatter across the cold porcelain of the sink.  “…was headed home…there was a bomb, I was attacked…I couldn’t…” he finished lamely, air escaping through his teeth as he felt fingers making attempts at the smaller pieces. They stopped, their weight leaving his skin. Not that he was complaining about it stopping, but he could still feel some of the shards as he looked over his shoulder, wondering what Wade was doing. Oh. He clenched his jaw though, steeling himself, knowing the tweezers his friend had grabbed were about to be used.

He shut his eyes, feeling the cool metal’s contact on his skin. “Did you know him?” Wade asked conversationally, as if there wasn’t a minor surgery taking place. Peter answered him, but through gritted teeth.

“No? I don’t know…the eyes on my mask…melted.”  The probing was a little much for him, the pulling and tugging of his tissue with the imbedded glass made him think he was going to break the side of the tub or bite through his teeth. The extra sound he heard was the slight _plink, plink_ of smaller glass pieces settling in the sink. There was a small chuckle, but no comment. The digging in his skin stopped, then.

He felt Wade press his palm against his back. “Tell me if it hurts somewhere,” he murmured, hand rubbing over his lacerated suit and punctured skin. His fingers trailed along the holes that were slowly beginning to heal themselves now that the obstructions had been removed. Peter swallowed hard, the sensation of his touch sending a shiver down his spine. There wasn’t any pain, just this weird feeling pooling in his stomach.

“I-I think you got it all,” Peter whispered, throat dry. Wade’s fingers paused at the small of his back. They lingered there, longer than necessary, and on their own, they pulled back.

“Yeah. Quinton Tarantino would be proud of that window.” Peter faced Wade, seeing him picking up the glass pieces. He was going to ask who he was talking about, but seeing him pick up the glass made him say,

“You’re going cut yourself, too.”

“No big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Peter protested, reaching out to try and stop him.

“I heal, remember?” Peter stopped, eyes dropping to look at the linoleum floor for a second then looking back up at the masked face.

“It’ll still hurt.”

“Everything hurts,” he replied cryptically, taking the glass from the bathroom to the kitchen to be tossed in an old box. He never clarified what he meant, either. The question he left unasked plagued him the entire way back home, but when he eased himself into bed, he was too tired to think on it. His eyes slipped closed, falling fast asleep in no time at all.


	9. Chapter 9

At some point in the night, Peter had rolled over onto his side, his weight straining his bruised ribs. When the pressure finally registered in his sleeping mind, he let out a whine before resuming his position on his back. He groaned, the pain effectively waking him from the dream he had been having. It was a good dream, too; he was certain of it.

He breathed out slowly, looking at the clock. It was three in the morning. He sighed, shutting his eyes again, trying to recall the peaceful feeling of the dream. Its embrace warm and inviting, like hot chocolate and a crackling fire, Peter sunk into it. Slowly, pictures formed in his mind’s eye, things that were memories, and scenes that were drawn up of his brain’s own accord.

Gwen was there, alongside the face Peter supplied for Wade. It was agreeable, smiling, and his eyes full of mischief. It made Peter laugh, too, because Gwen’s eyes twinkled in a similar way, but they were lighter than Wade’s. He reached out for them both, but he couldn’t get any closer to them.

One foot in front of the other, he chased after them until he was at a full sprint. He pumped his legs, trying to get to them. It was no use, though. Whatever distance he covered, they made up double despite never moving. He pushed himself harder, his chest feeling tighter and tighter from exertion and…

“Peter.” It was Aunt May. He sat up with a jolt, wincing. His feet were tangled up in the sheets, and he was having a hard time figuring out how to get out of his bed. “Are you all right?” She questioned, eyeing him in that way she had—motherly concern with sternness.

“Uh…yeah, just slept wrong, I think.” He smiled through the pain he felt, not wanting his aunt to worry about him. When she still looked unsure, Peter continued, “I’m fine, Aunt May, really.” He smiled at her, and she nodded.

“All right, breakfast’s on the table when you’re ready.” Peter waited until she closed the door before trying to get out of bed. It was not going to be an easy day, he decided as his ribs protested at the movement. He got dressed as quickly as he could manage and made his way downstairs without looking too pained.

“You’ll be late if you move any slower,” she poked at him, drinking a cup of tea at the table. Peter laughed.

“I should really look into not falling during athletics,” he replied picking up the egg and cheese sandwich. “Thanks Aunt May. Love you,” he told her, moving to shoulder his book bag, a grimace crossing his face. He was thankful she couldn’t see it. That hurt. He turned back to smile and wave at her before pick up his skateboard and leaving the house.

–

Peter looked down at the permission slip that was handed to him, Gwen, and the remaining top ten percent of his class. He almost gaped when he saw the OsCorp logo printed largely on the upper left-hand corner of the paper, but he didn’t. A sense of relief washed over him for a moment.

“Please return that signed on Monday morning, and be ready to leave at eleven. This is a unique opportunity being offered to you,” the principal informed them before dismissing them from the office. He knew he’d have to be careful, but at least he had an in now.

“Well this is exciting,” Gwen murmured to him, looping her arm around his. He started a little bit, looking to his left.

“What—oh uh, yeah, yeah it is,” he replied off-handedly. Gwen raised an eyebrow at him.

“You look thrilled about it,” she told him, completely sarcastic. Peter gave her a weak smile as they walked by the lockers.

“I…have a lot on my mind about this. Uh, last night I was trying…” Peter trailed off, looking around them, seeing that the hallway was empty before continuing in a low voice. “I was trying to see if I could find stuff out about my parents. You know…just _something_ that’ll…help me, and long story short, there was a basement that had some boxes and electrical wiring and the like. There was supposedly more than what was down there, too. I overheard a couple of guys talking about them going to OsCorp.” Gwen’s face went from excited to a little less than that.

“Peter…you’re not going to…try to sneak past the security there, are you? We’ll be in a group—a very _small_ group—”

“I’m aware,” he murmured, shutting his mouth as he saw a teacher walking their way. He looked away from her as Gwen said hello to her. Peter leaned against Gwen as he walked them outside, leading them down the street. They continued like that for a while, silent as their arms moved to accommodate holding each other and treading forward.

They followed the path laid out for couples like them and joggers and parents with children, watching as the sun began to sink lower and color the sky pinks, reds, purples, and oranges. A hazy blue-white drifted over the almost airbrushed sunset, stratus clouds viewable over the tops of trees.

“You’re going to need a lookout,” she told him as they came up to the park. He smirked, giving her a sideways look.

“Are you volunteering?”

“What kind of a girlfriend would I be if I _wasn’t_?” She inquired, and Peter’s hand squeezed at her waist gently.

“Not a very good one. I mean, what girl wouldn’t want to play the lookout?” She poked him in the side hard, but her grin stayed wide and sweet.

“Besides, I sort of know the layout…while I might not have access anymore; you’re going to need a guide.”


	10. Chapter 10

If Peter had any doubts about Gwen being his guide, he didn’t have to worry about them for long as she pulled him away from the group of people. When they had gotten there, the group wasn’t as small as they expected, but it wasn’t large enough that they wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“Today, you all have been given the opportunity to take a tour of OsCorp.” Peter could hear their tour guide announce to the crowd as the carefully moved away from the pack. As long as they didn’t move too fast, too soon they would be in the clear. He felt some nervousness, and he idly wondered if he was gripping Gwen’s hand that hard, or if it was hers tight around his. She beamed at him, green eyes striking beneath her cornsilk bangs.

She barely made a sound when she uttered, “Come on.” He followed her without hesitation, the group moving further away from them as they snuck into a passageway. A thought occurred to him, and he bit his lip to stifle the laughter. He knew Deadpool would laugh loudly at it, too. He’d tell Gwen about it later, after all of this.

She hurried him through the hallways, occasionally yanking hard on his hand to pull him against a wall. She had told him to keep an eye out for an elevator. It was the only one that when to the floors beneath OsCorp, essentially the ‘top secret’ specimens of study went down there. It was a good idea, seeing that his parents’ research seemed to be very important to Mr. Osborn.

It felt like they had been skulking around the building for an hour when Peter noticed a secluded, metal box. He tugged on her arm gently and gestured with his head at the spot. She smiled and nodded quickly, looking left and right before bolting with him in tow towards it. They managed to get inside it when Gwen cursed under her breath, looking at Peter as though she had forgotten something. She had.

“You have to have access to the floor.” Her expression looked tortured. “I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t think, we’re just going to have—” Peter placed a hand over her mouth. It was his turn to pull some moves, catching a man in a lab coat inspecting his clipboard as he approached the lift. The distracted worker didn’t notice as two teens attached themselves to the roof of the elevator, one easily holding the other in place. She looked at him with panicked eyes, but he merely shook his head infinitesimally at her. The man must have looked up from his notes for a moment because Peter had to press a little harder against the metal as he felt the jarring motion of the elevator moving down.

When the motion stopped, Peter waited until the man strode through the metal doors before easing them both down. They stayed silent as they made their way through the doors, as well. The metal shut quietly, but it closed with an almost final sound. Peter looked over his shoulder at it. How would they get back up—maybe there were stairs?

Gwen motioned with her head to follow her down the next corridor, away from the scientist they used to get down here in the first place. Peter noticed a smile spreading over her face and chalked it up to nervous energy. She wasn’t used to this sort of thing as he was, but he knew she had done these things. “Where—” he began to whisper, but she shushed him, leading him to a door, locked yet again.

He let go of her hand, seeing the room inside where a few people were inputting data on multiple computers. A sigh of frustrated escaped him. “How are we supposed to—”

“You there! Where are your lab coats?” Peter felt heat bloom over the back of his neck, his stomach clenching when Gwen smiled kindly at the man that approached.

“I’m afraid my colleague and I misplaced them in this room last night. Unfortunately, our badges were misplaced with them.” A look of recognition overcame the man, and instantly his stern expression softened.

“Did you get another job here, Ms. Stacey?” He asked, reaching out a hand to shake hers. She grasped his hand, her smile—dare he think—flirtatious.

“Sort of—just a part-time. Could you help me, John?” She asked him, and Peter definitely noticed that their hands hadn’t parted, and that Gwen’s thumb was lightly brushing over his knuckles. Peter looked away, giving a slight cough. John, however, just held her hand for a moment longer before releasing it.

“Of course, Gwen,” he winked at her, sliding into casually using her name. Peter shifted out of the way of the door, giving his girlfriend a sideways look. She merely shrugged at him as John opened the door for them. “There you are, if you…need anything else, I’m just down the hall.” He took her hand again, and Peter slipped past them, going straight for one of the computers. I am not jealous, he told himself, coaching himself more like, as his fingers began typing into the mainframe.

He didn’t directly enter in his parents’ names. He started with the algorithms they were associated with, looking for any matches to them. He took a breath, his fingers clacking over the keys with ease as the screen flashed with new files, new searches, but nothing of importance. He blinked as he delved further into the files until he found what he was looking for—their pictures before his eyes. He scanned the page, reading as quickly as he could.

The research they had been working on had gotten further than the papers he had given to Dr. Cooper. Perhaps this is why they ran? So they could protect this information. Peter clenched his teeth in anger. He knew this couldn’t have been updated without them being found. Exactly who was the person behind OsCorp?

He already knew how valuable the information was; Dr. Cooper had proved that by almost completing the unfinished formula on splicing. But this…there were cures here and the full mutation code without the side effects—the data proved it. He erased what he had been searching and walked away, returning with Gwen after a few more precious minutes of sneaking back to the tour group.

He couldn’t help but feel watched all the while though.

“What did you find?” She tried to ask him, quietly as they shuffled along with the throng of twenty or so people. Peter shook his head infinitesimally, meaning ‘not here’. She nodded and slipped her fingers between his once more.


	11. Chapter 11

Deadpool was waiting for him when he made it home that evening. He didn’t know what to make of it, but it kind of made him smile, knowing he wouldn’t be by himself for a while. He had just finished telling Gwen about what he found out, and even though he was talked out, the walk home made him dread sitting in his room alone.

He had caught the man mid-sentence of a personal rant, but the merc stopped and seemed to smile at him. “Hey Petey!” Peter made quick hushing movements with his hand going to his mouth as he shut the door to his room.

“Aunt May’s asleep—be quieter.”

“You take the fun out of it, web-head,” he pouted, settling on Peter’s bed again. Peter’s eyes caught the silver, and he made a mental strike against being okay with the merc being in his room.

“Wade,” he hissed, dropping his bag on the floor and rushing him on the bed.

“Oh he’s so close—I’m excited!” Peter ignored him, wresting the knife from his hand and tossing it on the floor.

“Don’t…don’t pull those out in here,” he muttered, his brown eyes averting to the floor before he shuffled back to the chair by his laptop. He felt a little awkward after Deadpool’s comment.

“There’s nothing wrong with playing with knives, is there? We were just waiting for Spidey to get home.” There wasn’t a hint of chagrin in the man’s voice; it was more of a purr, not that Peter registered that. He settled into his chair, glancing over at the merc, a little more at ease now that he didn’t have the knife in his hands. He knew the man was dangerous, and he remembered how trigger-happy he could get.

“No, but…don’t do it here.” There could be an accident, he thought quietly to himself, leaning back a little in the chair. Deadpool sighed and shrugged.

“We can’t if we can’t,” he murmured low, adjusting himself on the bed so he was leaning casually against the wall, an arm resting lazily on a bent knee while his leg hung off of the bed. With his mask on, Peter could only guess that the man was watching him, and suddenly, he questioned whether he wanted the man’s undivided attention.

His mind’s eye recreated the face he saw while he slept, a cocky smile accompanying his stare. His cheeks felt hot, and he nodded slightly, trying not to think about his face and those eyes that looked at him like Gwen’s had. “What brings you over?” He asked, actively trying to rid himself of the image by talking.

Deadpool continued to stare at him, tilting his head like he was considering Peter for a moment before he replied, “Why, to see you of course. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the itsy-bitsy spider.” Peter frowned at him.

“I’m not itsy-bitsy,” he protested.

“No, I bet you aren’t.” Peter coughed, heat creeping down his neck at the small aside Wade made. “C’mon, you’re tiny, Parker.” A pout clear on his lips, the teen got up from his chair, trying to make his five foot six look impressive. He even placed his hands on his hips for good measure, staring down at the man that sort of stalked him. However, the masked mercenary eased himself off of the bed, not letting Peter have the win for long.

If a tilt of a head could read haughty, Wade had perfected that look. “See baby boy? Itty-bitty,” he poked fun at him, even going so far as to put his hands over the tops of Peter’s shoulders. A corner of Peter’s mouth lifted, glancing up at him. “You’re just so small; I could pick you up like a ragdoll and—whoa, wait Petey!” He may be the smaller of the two, but that little dose of super strength went pretty far, enough so that he had pushed the Merc with the Mouth just off balance. The second gave him an opportunity to slip next to him and pin him in a headlock on the bed he had only just abandoned.

Not going to go down without a fight, Wade pulled at Peter’s wrist and twisted in his hold. Peter held on, but the squirming ultimately forced him to let go and their hands grappled to get purchase on the other, trying to see who would win the wrestling match. His breaths were coming out short, their levels changing too often for either of them to breathe properly. The exhilaration he felt made him giddy, and mid-struggle, he laughed loudly while Wade’s fingers pushed against his shoulders.

It was almost too loud, and he panicked. His hands redirected themselves to Wade’s mouth, clapping over it as he listened for Aunt May. For a moment, he thought they were in the clear, but as he was pulling a hand away, he heard the slightest creak on the stairs.

“Peter?” Peter swallowed, a finger going to his lips as he stared hard at Deadpool before attempting to push his hands off of his shoulders so he could get up. When he could, he extricated himself from the awkward position their limbs had put them in, the blush on his cheeks more than the exertion.

“Yeah, Aunt May?” He called back, cracking the door a little bit, guiding himself carefully through it. He glanced back at Wade, seeing tousled hair, a beaming face in his mind’s eye again. He forced himself to keep going, shaking his head as he walked to the top of the stairs.

“Were you laughing just now?” She was in her bathrobe, staring up at him in the darkness unamused.

“Yeah…I uh, was watching a video.” He scratched the back of his neck, trying to look repentant and like he hadn’t just been rough housing with someone that he probably shouldn’t have been. She was a light sleeper, Aunt May.

“It’s late, Peter Parker. Go to bed,” she told him sternly, the glare enough to make him resume a more polite way of speech.

“Yes ma’am.” He stepped back from the railing, and he heard her slowly make her way back to her bedroom. He made his way back to his room, warmth still in his cheeks and a smile on his lips.

“Wade, we have to keep it…down…” His voice started in a whisper but trailed off, his words fading as he realized the room was empty save for the knife that he had taken from Wade.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait everyone ^^;; I took a two-week holiday, but now I'm back with more of the story!

“Peter.”

“Mm?” He looked over at her, brushing a hand through her hair.

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m here,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her. She smiled into the kiss, her lips forming against his like the pillow they were resting on. His hand rested against her cheek, his fingers curving against her jaw, drawing her closer. He hummed slightly before pulling back, his fingers moving slowly down her neck and over her bare shoulder. His eyes followed the trail, soft red patches over pieces of skin that could be covered. His smile turned sheepish at remembering making them.

“You…seemed far away for a minute there,” she said with a giggle, her fingers messing with his hair. This wasn’t their first time, but it was still new for both of them. Still a little awkward after, but slowly, it was getting less so. He shook his head at her, trying to deny it. He had been distracted, and he didn’t want to admit it.

“You’ve been thinking a lot lately,” she continued to pry. “At school, with me…c’mon Peter…” She ran her fingers over the shell of his ear, and he shivered.

“It’s nothing, really Gwen,” he murmured, a hand rising to take hold of her wrist, and he turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. She pushed him playfully against his chest with her other hand.

“I’m serious.” She sat up, pulling up the sheet to her chest as she looked down at him. Really, he had the sexiest girl sitting in his bed with mussed up hair that he had caused. At the moment, the proud grin that had formed wasn’t something he could help, and it was the reason why a pillow was slammed into his face.

“Ow, ow—I deserved that.”

“Yeah, you did. Jesus, Peter. We’ve always been able to talk, what’s wrong?” He sighed, sitting up, too. His hand flattened against her freckled back. With his other, he rubbed his forehead.

“I-I don’t know,” he mumbled. He glanced over at his desk, where he had put the knife that Deadpool had left. He didn’t want to talk about him. It wasn’t like he was a big part of his life. He was just a stalker, someone that he had started hanging out with because he was threatened. He didn’t _mean_ anything to him. At any rate, he was probably a phase for the merc. He was bored and messing with Spider-Man seemed to be the best idea he’s had, or something. He didn’t know. He didn’t—shouldn’t—care.

She clicked her tongue at him, but pecked him on the cheek all the same before crawling over him to start getting her clothes.

“Hey, wait…”

“I have to go, Peter. Mom, you know?”

“It’s six,” he protested, not ready to let her go yet. Something about this made him feel uneasy. “Just stay a bit longer,” he told her, reaching out his hands for hers. Reluctantly, she took them, and he pulled her closer.

“I can’t, Peter,” she told him, leaning down to kiss him again, a long, lingering kiss, slow and unhurried, and over too quickly. She moved away from him then, shimmying into her skirt and buttoning up her blouse. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Her smile made his heart beat fast, and he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. He made gesture for her to come back to him, and she giggled, shaking her head. He stood up, taking the sheet with him, wrapping his arms around her.

“Peter…” It was her turn to protest, but he held her to him, kissing her again, feeling her lips move against his again, and her tongue on his again. His hands slid up her arms, over her shoulders, and curled around her neck, cradling her jaw as he drew her closer to him. Her arms wrapped around his hips; their lips glued together, breathing through their noses before he finally broke it. Slowly, he parted their lips, opening his eyes to glance into hers.

“I love you.” She smiled at him, cheeks flushed from their kiss.

“I love you, too.” He let her go then, not ready, but he’d see her again soon. They had school tomorrow.


	13. Chapter 13

When he got to school, Gwen wasn’t there to greet him, just the principle reminding him to keep his skateboard off of the ground. He nodded, quickly putting it in hand before sitting down on the quad. His foot bounced with his nervous energy, but the closer it came to the bell ringing, Gwen still hadn’t shown up. He looked right and left, but he didn’t see her blond head anywhere.

He rubbed his hands over his face, sighing. Where was she? The first bell rang, then the second. He made it into class three minutes late, waiting her out. Maybe she was just running late or she was already in class, and he was being paranoid. He nodded to himself. That was it.

He went to homeroom, a small lecture from the teacher waiting for him for being late. He found his seat and stared out the window for majority of the class. Yesterday had been two weeks since he had found out that little bit about his parents, and he hadn’t seen Deadpool since then. He wanted to text Gwen, to at least make sure she was here, but he knew if he did, he’d lose his phone to Mrs. Wurtherby.

“Mr. Parker, do you mind?” She clucked, jerking him from his half-aware state. He blinked and slowed his pencil to a halt, not realizing it had been tapping against the desk for the better part of a minute. She glared at him, but continued her lesson as if nothing had happened. He chewed his lip, nodding a little to himself. Something felt off about this, but he didn’t know why. Gwen was fine.

Lunch rolled around, and still, no sign of her. He texted her when he had gone into the bathroom, but that was two hours ago. Maybe she’s sick? But it didn’t seem right. She was fine yesterday, more than fine. With his anxiety blowing through the roof, his hands started to stick to things, and he had to breathe. He nudged his plate out of the way with his nose, laying his forehead against the surface as he took deep breaths.

No one harassed him, not even Flash.

It was a while before he could remove his hands from the table, and at that point he had lost any appetite he had. He was too worried about Gwen. In a fog, he dumped the tray and continued on to his next class. He couldn’t focus, that nagging sense never quieting, despite all of the attempts he made.

She’s fine; he kept trying to tell himself. People miss school, it’s normal. _But Gwen doesn’t miss school_ , the other part of his brain argued as he sat down for the final period of the day. He worried on his lower lip again, nearly splitting the skin when the bell woke him up.

He moved faster than the other kids, and he ran out of the school, hearing students and teachers alike telling him to watch it and slow down. He put his skateboard down and hopped on, going to her apartment as quickly as he humanly could, dodging people easily enough until he was a block away. He transitioned fluidly from wheels to feet, sprinting for the revolving door he had never used and past the doorman.

He pressed the button harder than necessary, but it remained intact at least. “C’mon,” he urged, resisting the desire to push it multiple times. He needed to get up there, but he didn’t think long enough to put on his suit before bolting off. The elevator doors opened, and he shoved past the people getting off, ignoring their protests and comments about him being rude. When it was empty, he quickly pressed the button for her floor, and he slammed his thumb against the button that’d ensure the doors shut quickly. They did, and he began to breathe more normally.

That was until he got out of the elevator.

His phone rang, and he saw the caller ID before answering it, relief in his voice. “Gwen, I was so—”

“Worried? I’m sure you were, Peter Parker. After all, she is a very pretty girl.” Ice flooded his body, and his stomach felt like it was twisting into a knot.

“Where is she? I swear—if you’ve hurt her—”

“Don’t make idle threats with me, _Spider-Man_. I haven’t hurt your precious Gwen, but oh, are you going to be disappointed with her.”

“Tell me where,” he demanded. This man knew who he was, and he had Gwen.

“We’ll be waiting in the clock tower by OsCorp at sunset, Spider-Man. Don’t be late.” The line went dead, and Peter didn’t bother with the elevator for the way down.

–

Peter was inside, looking up at the cogs slowly turning, their wheels halting with the sound of strained metal on metal and a scream of terror. He webbed himself closer, knowing that was Gwen’s voice. He just barely could see her, and she was hanging by her wrists, the rope she was tied up in wedged between two cogs.

He flung himself closer, in her line of sight. He had to get her out and fast. If he could just get her to safety before facing off against the guy that had taken her— _wham_!

Peter lay there on the ground, groaning as he blinked fuzzy dots out of his vision. “Did you really think I’d make it that easy for you, Spider-Man?” He shook his head, trying to clear it, pushing himself up from the metal mesh that ran beneath him on this floor.

“Let her go,” he growled, looking for the source of the talking. It was like he had been checked, but with something metal, not a body.

“After I went through the trouble of capturing her, I don’t think so, Spider-Man,” he informed him, a hint of glee in his voice. Peter scanned the area for him, inching sideways over the mesh flooring, avoiding the platform where he had been knocked back to this.

“You’re fight’s with me! Let her go!” He repeated, craning his neck as he searched, Gwen the equivalent of at least three flights of stairs. Then he glimpsed him, but whatever he was, he didn’t look human, not entirely. Peter jumped up, getting himself that much closer by being a floor up. The clock’s mechanism groaned and the gears began to turn again, crashing and jarring Gwen’s body as she moved with it.

“Who said my fight was entirely with you? But time is of the essence, if you hadn’t noticed, Spider-Man. She doesn’t have much of it left.” Peter set his jaw, running for her, but this time he saw the attack. A metal, green hoverboard flew at his head, but he ducked down, evading it quickly. “Do you think you can save her if you’re fighting me?” Peter’s reply came in the form of webbing his opponent’s ankle and pulling hard.

He crashed down to the platform even with him, and Peter rushed him as he recovered. His fist slammed into the creature’s face, and he couldn’t tell if it was a real one or if it was a fake. He didn’t have long to consider it either, a shin connecting with his ribs from his kick. He let out a groan, putting up his fists quickly to save his face, though his forearms burned from the contact the man’s knuckles made against his skin. He punched again, missing and only grazing his shoulder, and for the miss he received a knee into his stomach.

All the air he had in him was knocked out. He collapsed to the metal beneath him, wheezing, but caught the motion of his foot going to his face. He grabbed, taking it in both hands and twisting him bodily. The man he was fighting fell hard against the metal, and Peter struggled to get to his feet. He looked like a goblin, remembering pictures he’d seen in fairy tale books.

The cogs turned again, and Gwen shouted out. Peter turned his head—only one more turn and she’d fall. “Peter!” She tried to warn him, but the blow still caught him on the base of his neck. He gave a cry, his knees buckling, but he turned to use his forearms again, protecting his head now more than his face.

“It’s so cute you want to save your little girlfriend, even after she ratted you out,” he hissed at him. Peter could see his green eyes, and he shoved him back, not wanting to be that close to him. He staggered backwards, laughing. “Oh, she had so many stories to tell me about _you_ , Peter Parker.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, before shouting,

“It’s not true!”

“I’m afraid it is, son.” There was unsuppressed mirth in his words, and Peter ran at him, throwing punch after punch before managing to knock him down.

“She’d never!” He ground out through gritted teeth.

“Ah, but she did.”

“I’m sorry, Peter! I-I’m so sorry!” They both spoke at the same time, and the metal groaned one more time. No. Even if she had… No. He leapt into the air, landing onto the platform, sending out a string of webbing to catch her just as the goblin found his hoverboard. He wouldn’t let him go, not after this, and he shot a web at him, too. The metal settled, the screams echoing in the tower until he felt the catch of his webs, and he heard a sickening, heart shattering snap.

He didn’t dare to look down, his eyes shutting tight. Regardless, anguish set in first, tears welling up and seeping through, wetting the fabric covering his face. The goblin let out a cackle, high and cold, watching him shake. Beneath his mask, his lips were pulled down as he fought to tether the two he held as he battled with the emotions trying to erupt.

“You’re going to have to let one go. You can’t keep us both.” Peter couldn’t let her go, and the goblin knew it. “We’ll see each other again, Spider-Man.” When he let go, the goblin was gone, and he grabbed the webbing with both hands. He drew her up gently, seeing how the web had cradled her neck in its grasp. He pulled off his mask, kissing her once. She wasn’t completely cold yet, and his eyes screwed up with tears remembering how lively they had been twenty-four hours ago when he kissed her goodbye.

The shock set in much slower, seeping into his being as he carefully removed the rope around her soft wrists and took her with him. It had all just been a blur. He knew he had put her in her room, but he didn’t remember breaking in, or the fact that he had tucked her into bed. He just knew he couldn’t let her lie there on the side of the street. She didn’t deserve that, and he deserved…


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update again, guys. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Things became little clearer for him when he realized he had escaped to this rundown apartment. It was bad, but it was good. Deadpool was good for this sort of thing, right? Distracting…

He forced his way through the window, taking off his mask as he did so and leaving it on the dirty floor. He didn’t have to call out for him because the man walked into the room urgently upon hearing the racket he had caused getting inside. He seemed to look confused.

“Spidey! Not that it matters or anything, but what’re you doing here?” But the teen wasted no time, striding towards him, enveloping the larger man in his arms, standing on his toes to press his lips over the cloth that covered the mercenary’s.

There was no response to his kiss, but the awkwardness Peter would have felt wasn’t there. Where emotions and thought should have been, he’d forced them down, letting the empty, numbing feeling sink into his being completely. He simply pulled back enough to roll up his mask, boldly tasting the man’s lips for the first time. They were hard and cracked, as if he had been in extreme cold for an extended period of time, but his lips were warm and bigger than his. He dragged his tongue along his upper lip, tasting the dried pieces of skin. The action seemed to stir Deadpool from whatever reverie he was in because Peter felt a hand drawing him in closer to his body, holding his hip firmly to the mercenary, and his hair fisted beneath eager fingers as their kiss deepened.

This was what he needed, and if it was Wade…they were the same now, alone.

Insistently, he pressed into him, wanting anything but the thoughts bubbling just below the surface, and the way their tongues fused together all but assured him they wouldn’t come back tonight. “Nng…” he moaned through the wet sounds of their kiss, hearing their teeth click more than feeling it. His hips rocked forward, and the motion was met by Wade’s. “Hah—”

“Peter.” Wade broke the kiss, still holding him in his arms; their bodies still flush against one another, those fingers feverishly cupped his head and tangled in the brown mess. His name was a question as much as it was a statement, but his body heard the husky timbre of his voice first, and his lips managed to form the word ‘please’. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel anything but what was happening right now between them. Everything else…everything else could wait.

For a very pregnant moment, he felt like the merc was sizing him up, and maybe he was as he argued silently with himself. Peter leaned up; kissing his jaw, feeling what might have been a scar beneath his lips.

Whatever was going through Wade’s head must have been settled, because he brought their lips back together. Peter shivered as he felt the hand in his hair loosen its grip, slowly moving down his neck, back…waist. His hips pressed into his friend’s, searching for something more than these light touches that made his chest hurt.

He didn’t have to say anything, though. Wade easily lifted the younger man into his arms; taking him into the bedroom he had never gone in, where the dark was almost absolute. He didn’t care, pressing a kiss to his lips. As long as their bodies stayed like this, their mouths occupied for this and breathing, he didn’t have to care or think.

There wasn’t an exchange about finding the bed, but the soft, cushioned surface couldn’t be mistaken for anything else as he was laid down on it. He broke the kiss as their hips pressed together more, and he honestly hadn’t noticed he was hard until he felt Wade’s arousal pressing and rubbing against his. A shivering moan escaped his lips followed by,

“Wade—” His words were stopped short, his breathing ragged as their lips connected again. His hips rolled up into the pair above him, earning him a delightful sound accompanied with,

“Baby boy…” It was spoken with such awe and reverence that Peter repeated the action. He was staring up into that masked face now, wanting to see the expression he had. His hands travelled to pull it off, but Wade’s hands gently took Peter’s wrists and forced them to the bed. “No.”

“Wade I—” He was silenced with another kiss, moaning as he felt their lower halves grind against each other again.

“No.”

“I want to…while…I’ve never…” Peter’s voice sounded too breathy in his own ears.

“I know…just…” Wade let the statement hang there, hesitantly pressing their lips together to silence the teen. It was like he was trying to hide something. Peter was going to ask when the kiss broke, but Wade’s lips mouthed over his neck, suckling bruises into the skin and rendering him speechless, thoughtless like he wanted to be. The fingers that trailed down his sides and over the fabric that covered his waist aided in that, too, by stopping whatever protest he might have made as desire overran his curiosity for the moment.

He lifted his hips automatically, feeling the material being tugged down enough that he felt the slightest of drafts in the apartment against his skin. Wade left another kiss on his lips; long and lingering before he pulled the spandex completely off of him. His heart pounded in his chest as he heard his tights drop in a heap on the floor, followed by fingers lifting at his top, pulling that off of him, too.

He bit his lip as Wade’s hands touched over his exposed calves and thighs, and he shuddered from the feeling of the suit that he wore still.

“Yours, too…” Peter whined, breathlessly, wanting to feel his skin, not his suit. Wade merely leaned into him, pulling him into a deep kiss. “Mmph,” he breathed out, and the friction he felt against his erection felt different now that it was just Wade’s suit in the way. Their tongues were wet in Peter’s mouth, but he welcomed the sloppy kiss as his hands travelled to tug at the spandex top.

“Peter, please,” Wade whispered, the sound shaking him to his core. It dripped with his desire but also the plea not to remove any of his clothes. Peter wanted to argue, ready to protest, but it died in his throat as their hips rubbed against each other, a moan replacing it. “No, baby boy. Not…yet, okay?” He could hear that vulnerability he had caught only a couple of times, and he looked up at him, trying to imagine what his face would look like right now. He swallowed his argument and nodded, his lips dragging slightly along Wade’s as he agreed to his terms.

His lips pressed lightly into Peter’s as the weight on the mattress shifted for a second, and Peter didn’t have to look to know what he was getting. The man above him pulled back a little, the bottle switching hands before he took his gloved middle finger into his mouth and pulled it off. Peter couldn’t really see much in the darkness, just knew when the calloused hand was against his skin, pressing over his stomach and making the muscles jump.

Wade leaned down, kissing the corner of Peter’s mouth. “Is it…really okay, baby boy?” He asked cautiously, almost as if he thought he was imagining this, his hand stopped maddeningly close to his cock, lightly massaging the inside of his thigh.

“Yes…yes,” he repeated, voice shaky as his hips tried to move into his hand, but it pulled away as Wade sat up. The cap to the bottle opened, and some of the contents were squeezed into his hand. Peter shut his eyes, trying to somehow brace himself for this as he felt a digit press against his entrance. The slightest of sounds escaped him as he flinched away from his hand instinctively, a feeling of trepidation warring with want.

It seemed to go dead silent in the dark room, the only sounds Peter’s shaky breaths. He caught Wade’s voice after a moment, muttering with himself. He couldn’t make out all of the words because he was talking so fast, but one was used so often that he could infer what the conversation was about: his being a virgin.

His cheeks felt like they were burning, and he wanted to cover his face. But as he reached for the pillow he was laying on, Wade’s lips found his again. He pressed into the kiss as he felt a gloved hand on his waist, massaging lightly at the skin, relaxing him. Peter squeaked, but Wade didn’t pull back as his finger rubbed over the area, letting him carefully get used to the feeling of pressure before gradually sliding inside of him.

“Nng!” Peter’s eyes shut tight against the feeling, and Wade’s other hand squeezed lightly at his hip.

“It’s okay,” he told him, slowly pressing until he was at the knuckle. “We’re okay.” Peter nodded, unable to speak, trying to remember how to breathe. It felt…strange, but good at the same time. The motions were smooth as he pulled out carefully and pressed back in, and Peter arched into the touch, their lips caressing lightly over each other. He wasn’t used to it, but the warmth was what he focused on, what soothed him.

He noticed though when the strange feeling went away, that he was pressing back into his finger, letting out soft whimpers of pleasure. Though, the sensation of being stretched again halted his voice mid-moan, making him hiss as he felt him moving and scissoring his fingers. “Hnn…Wade…” he gasped, clutching at the man above him, digging crescents into his shoulders. Wade shushed him, kissing him languidly, matching the steady rhythm of his fingers. It didn’t take much more, and Peter was pressing back against him again, and he gave his loudest moan yet as he felt those digits curl and brush against a sensitive area.

“Do you like that, baby boy?” He whispered against lips, his smile evident even if Peter couldn’t see it. He nodded quickly, eyes shut tight as his fingers grasped at him. He couldn’t find his voice, rocking back against him, feeling them curl inside him again.

He felt the soft rumble in Wade’s chest, a low, possessive sound that went through his body and straight to his erection. He keened slightly, needy as his fingers worked him open. “Wade…please,” he managed, wanting more than this, pressing their lips together hard. He felt his bruise as their teeth added to the force of the kiss, but he didn’t pull away. He felt Wade’s tongue lick roughly over his lips, against his tongue, suckling it. He felt the digits withdraw from his body.

He broke the kiss, a whine in the back of his throat at the loss of that warmth, and Wade growled in response. Peter shivered and opened his eyes finally, watching as Wade shifted over him again, pulling out a tiny packet and tearing it open. Peter’s throat felt tight. He was really about to do this. The condom was taken out, and Wade rolled it onto his cock before adding more lube. Peter stared up at him, waiting, gritting his teeth. The tip pressed against his entrance, and he didn’t know if he really could do this, especially as he felt like he was being stretched too much. Wade’s lips kissed at his throat, a rough hand massaging soothingly at his hip. He had never felt a burn like this…except…

“Relax Petey,” Wade’s husky whisper broke through his thoughts, and his hands gripped at the red and black material of his suit. He swallowed hard and nodded, turning his head away as he shut his eyes against the pain of him slowly moving deeper inside. He could feel tears sliding down his skin and onto the pillow he had turn his head into, the smell of smoke and gunpowder strong on it. It hurt, but the warm kisses against his neck made him shiver with pleasure, his affectionate touches easing the strain. Slowly, Peter brought himself to kiss Wade’s neck, tasting the smokiness on his tongue and feeling another scar.

“Wade…” Their lips found each other as Peter felt him completely inside him. He moaned in the kiss, tears still leaking from his eyes. Distract me, he silently pleaded as Wade’s tongue slid along his, his hips grinding against the mercenary’s.

The man above him broke the kiss, slowly withdrawing from him before pressing back inside, a little faster this time, and Peter’s voice broke as he cried out. It still hurt, and they moved at a quick pace, but Peter didn’t care. It was manageable, and the more they moved, the less it seemed to hurt. The jolting force, the tension building as his cock rubbed against Wade’s covered stomach, brought Peter embarrassingly close to the edge, and he couldn’t hold himself together. Not when he needed it so badly.

Though, he felt Wade’s hand wrap around his base, squeezing enough to stop him. “Not yet, baby boy,” he breathed hoarsely in his ear. Peter whimpered, his hands shifting over his shoulders, clinging to him tightly as he felt the pace increase, the burn of being stretched dull in comparison to the pleasure coiling in his stomach.

“Wade,” he gasped loudly, feeling him brush against his prostate again, his toes curling as the pleasure continued to fill him. He clenched around him tighter, his fingers slipping from his shoulders to grasping at the mercenary’s biceps.

Wade’s lips kissed along his neck, suckling another bruise into the creamy flesh as his hand stroked him. Peter’s body didn’t need persuading much longer before heat spilled between them, hot and wet.

His body felt like it was in shock again as Wade milked his orgasm, then he withdrew from him, and the blush on Peter’s cheeks faded slightly. He tried to sit up.

Before he could speak, lips covered his again as he heard the slick sounds of Wade stroking himself and felt the hot, sticky liquid drip over his body not a moment later. Peter felt lethargic and his mind was quiet for now, unable to really think in the wake of what had just happened. Wade pulled back from him, and he felt him shift on the bed before standing up. He reached out and caught Wade’s hand just barely, not wanting him to go, but not able to form the words.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured, pulling out of his boneless hold and walking off a ways where Peter could only see a light flick on and hear water run, and then they were both turned off. He then saw as he returned with full hands. He gathered one was a glass as it was placed into one of his hands. The other, a warm towel he used to wipe him down.

“It’s just water,” Wade told him, prompting Peter to drink. He sat up a little before lifting the glass to his lips, taking a small drink at first before draining it. He hadn’t realized he was that thirsty. He set the glass down on the table, glancing up at the mercenary.

“Can I stay?” He asked, and he heard the man chuckle as he got back into bed with him.

“I charge extra for that,” he teased. Peter blushed again, and he felt Wade wrap him up into his arms, spooning him and kissing his neck. There was some disappointment when he felt the cloth against his skin and not his lips. “Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight…”


	15. Chapter 15

The morning after, Peter felt a dull ache in the lower half of his body and an even heavier pain in his chest. He knew where he was, but when he only touched an empty bed, he sat up shakily, calling out for Wade. He can’t be gone… He tried to swallow the emotion from his voice, but when he called out for the mercenary again, it was a choking sob, and before Peter knew it, he dissolved into tears. Some of them were from his panic; some of them were from the shock of everything that had happened last night.

He didn’t hear Wade enter the room, but he heard Wade’s voice, softer and more serious than he had ever heard it. “Peter?” He looked up, and like a child, he reached for the man he had run to in desperation. Wade met him on the bed, tugging the boy into his arms and tucking him protectively against his chest like he had only a few hours ago.

“I thought…you were gone, too,” he barely managed, burrowed into the larger man’s hold. He smelled flour on him and the faintest hint of smoke, but he welcomed it.

“Gone? I was just trying to make you pancakes—that’s normal right? Breakfast after really good sex? …Too…” The word hung in the air, as if he was trying to figure out what that could mean as it interjected his train of thought.

When Peter’s whimpers finally died down, he asked, “What do you mean ‘too’?” It took him a moment to reply, swallowing and trying to find his voice.

“Gwen’s…” He couldn’t say it. “I tried to save her.” His voice cracked, and he shook his head, pressing closer to Wade.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against his head. Peter sniffed and looked up at him. “I…understand.” His arms were warm, and being there made him feel guilty. Guilty that he wasn’t the hero, guilty that he had done something so irrevocably _human_ , and he felt like he needed to punish himself for thinking it was okay. Even if she had…it was still _wrong_. He still loved her.

“I…probably should…go home…” he whispered slowly, laying his head on his shoulder.

“You should stay. Misery loves company, and they say I’m the best,” Deadpool persuaded with a hint of a morbid laugh as his fingers stroked lightly down his back. Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. He deserved to be immured, without anyone or anything to keep him company. He deserved to be tortured, anything but feel something beyond the pain of what he had done. He felt a gentle finger lift his chin, and he stared into the masked-eyes of this man that he didn’t know, this man that was his…friend.

He extricated himself from the inviting warmth Deadpool provided, standing shakily to try and distance himself from the bed and the man that was sitting on it. His eyes followed the length of the room to the door, seeing his costume amongst the mess that was Wade’s room.

“I…need to go.” His voice was cold, acerbic, keeping his eyes trained away from him. Deadpool couldn’t understand any of this.

“You were just crying like a bitch about being alone, and now you ‘need to go’?” There was an incredulous tone to his voice, and Peter bristled, but he tried to keep his façade.

“Yeah, maybe.” It hurt, standing like this, but he refused to sit down and look weak now. He took it upon himself to make for his clothes, but a strong hand closed around his wrist, the man attached standing up, slightly towering over him.

“What’s alone going to do for you? You’re…” There was a snort of laughter, bitter but genuine at the same time. “Sure, this is a good idea.” Peter’s eyes focused on him, watching him expectantly.

“What is?” His voice had dropped its pretense, in lieu of wanting to know what he meant, and Deadpool let go of his wrist.

“You’re Spider-Man. You’re supposed to be there for these people. You fight for them, protect them.” Peter turned his head away, eyes glaring at the Taco Bell wrappings on the floor.

“They don’t need me to fight for them,” he bit out.

“Then who’s going to do it?”

“Someone else, I don’t know, but it won’t be me.” Stubbornly, Peter kept his eyes locked on the trash.

“Why?” His brow furrowed at the question, snapping his head forward.

“They won’t want a murderer protecting them!” There was a brief pause as Peter stared at Wade, who argued immediately,

“You’re not a murderer. _I_ am! I kill people. I’ve killed _hundreds_ of people. You think you’re going to do these people a favor by sitting on the sidelines and hiding because you fucked up one time?”

“The reason I became Spider-Man was so I could find who killed my uncle—so I could kill him!” Peter shouted at him, angry. Wade gave a dark and humorless bark of laughter. _“Shut up!”_ He slammed his foot against the floor, the action jarring him and adding physical pain to the ache he felt in his heart. “I wanted to kill him, and now…I’ve killed Gwen!” He choked, slumping against the larger man as heated tears slid down his cheeks.

“You didn’t kill her. It was an accident.”

“What do you know?” Peter screamed, eyes shut tight and face red. “I _did_ …” Peter gulped, Wade’s arms encircling his waist. “I made a promise, and I broke it, and she’s dead because of me…” Gloved fingers began to trace little patterns on his skin, trying to comfort him. “It should’ve been me.”

As soon as they had started, the fingers stopped tracing over his bare skin, and silence draped over the room like a blanket. The words sank in and echoed in their heads for a long time before Wade finally spoke in the softest whisper,

“You can’t go down that road, baby boy.” Peter’s voice was thick with tears as he sniffed and asked,

“Why?”

“You’ll start questioning everything you’ve ever done. Take it from someone that’s been there, and knows that death ain’t quite what it’s cracked up to be. You have to keep going. You’ve…got to find what will make you hope again—like you do with me—everyone—like you do with everyone.” The last bit was delivered quickly, as if to cover up the fact that he had said ‘me’. Peter didn’t let this one slide, though.

“H-how do I give you hope?” Wade gave a sigh, and his fingers began their patterns again. Peter could hear the rueful tone in his voice.

“You’ve…got this way of making things seem not as bad as they are…he’s like a silver lining—he’s always a silver lining.” Peter sniffed, letting out a small giggle, noticing how his speech changed. He bit his lip; it was his turn to look sheepishly up at the merc.

“What if…I can’t?” He finally asked, wishing he could see his face right now. He wanted to see his eyes and see if they looked as desperate as his.

“Keep looking. Something will turn up eventually.” Peter buried his face into Wade’s chest, shuddering with his emotions, unable to speak as the merc supported him.


	16. Chapter 16

Needless to say, Peter didn’t go home after that. Wade went back to the kitchenette and the pancakes he’d been making while Peter fished around his shoe for his cell phone. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, staring at the dirtied floor as he waited for Aunt May to pick up. She sounded relieved when she heard his voice, and she didn’t scold him for once. Her only question for him was if he knew what had happened.

“Yeah…Aunt May…I know,” he breathed, voice slightly congested from the tears. He didn’t want to talk about it, though. He had just gotten through it with Wade, and he didn’t think he’d be able to get through again so soon. He cut her off mid-sentence, “I…I’m staying with a friend…for a while…so please don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll…I’ll be home soon, though. I love you.” He hung up after that, his chin dropping to his chest.

Fingers delved into his hair, and he gave the slightest of contented sounds before looking up at Wade. “Pancakes are done,” he offered, leaning down to brush his covered lips over the skin of his neck. A pang of guilt cut through him, his stomach knotting together, the kiss only driving home the sensation that he wasn’t used to this.

“I’m not hungry,” he told him, shying away from his touch and scooting back onto the mattress more. He looked away from him, his eyes closing as he felt the slight burn in his nose. He didn’t want to cry. Gooseflesh rose along his skin when he felt hands touching it gently.

“Are you sure? They’re damn good pancakes—with real maple syrup.” Peter glanced over at him. “It’s really real, like fresh from the tree real—well, maybe not _that_ real. It’d still have to go to a factory and have a lot of shit done to it, but yeah, I’ve got it,” Wade expounded further. A corner of his lips twitched up at that.

“What are you, Canadian?”

“Yeah, actually, I am.” Peter’s face broke out into a full smile at that. “And if you ask me if I’m a fugitive, you should already know that answer.” If Wade was trying to get him to laugh, he succeeded. It was loud but simultaneously soft, and his stomach clenched almost painfully when his giggles were interrupted mid-laugh.

He felt fingers moving along his leg, up and down his calf, gently and non-threatening. He shivered from the crown of his head to his ankles, staring at the man clad in red and black. He didn’t know if he wanted to pull away, but he knew he wanted something more familiar than the sensation his suit caused.

“Wade I—” The man crawled over him, and his voice caught in his throat.

“Let’s get you out of my clothes,” he breathed against his lips. Peter watched him, but when he felt his fingers tugging at the baggy shirt he had only recently donned, his hands covered Wade’s. He desired something more familiar than this place, than these foreign touches Wade gave him. He sniffed and rubbed the heel of his hands into his eyes. He didn’t know if anything would feel normal to him again, but he had to try.

“I-I want to see you…feel your skin…not your suit,” he admitted, cheeks reddening slightly. At least let me know you’re human, too, he thought, his fingers stretching out to grab at the mask he wore. Wade’s hands closed around his wrists.

“Petey…you don’t really want that…do you?” He whispered, and something in his voice made Peter remember something Deadpool had said a long time ago. Ugly. He worried his lip for a moment, staring at the man that was inches from his face before words tumbled out of his mouth.

“Blindfold me if you have to…” His blush deepened, but he continued the thought, “Just…let me feel your skin.” When Wade pulled away from him, walking up the room towards the door, he hurriedly added, “Y-you don’t have to—”

“Baby boy,” Wade interrupted, looking over at him, and Peter shivered hearing his voice. “What makes you think I’d turn that down?” He asked him before continuing into the closet. He heard him rummaging around in there, but Peter didn’t get curious. He simply sat in awe of himself and covered his face promptly. This was so embarrassing, but the fact that Wade was indulging it, he didn’t know which was worse.

“Petey,” he whispered, a finger poking at the backs of his hands. He looked up, seeing the black ribbon. Peter’s heart leapt into his throat, and it took several attempts for him to swallow before it settled back down. Of course this person would have something like that, and it made him wonder in the back of his mind what else he didn’t know—what else he could expect. He didn’t want to think about it.

“We don’t have to…you know, I’m completely down with this, obviously, I’ve got the blindfold after all, but you really don’t have to because I want to give you what you want I just—”

“Wade.”

“What?” Peter took hold of the satin and carefully started to wind it around his head, covering his eyes and tying it securely. He bit his lip. He couldn’t see anything, and now he wasn’t so sure of his self-imposed blindness. His stomach knotted and his heart beat loudly in his ears.

“I-it’s okay,” he breathed shakily, his hand stretching out and finding the merc’s chest. He gave a sigh of relief.

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought Spidey to be into these sorts of things.” Peter’s cheeks warmed again.

“I-I’m not.”

“But you offered it up so easily.” His voice dripped with the promise this position surely made, and Peter’s back flattened against the wall, even though he knew it was Wade that was in front of him. Someone he had grown to trust—he wouldn’t have been here if he didn’t—but he couldn’t shake the feeling of not knowing him.

“I-I want…to get t-to know you…” he stammered, his hand reaffirming that there was someone in front of him, moving from his chest to his shoulder. His fingers slid down the suit to his hand, curling around it and holding tight.

“You don’t have to be blindfolded for that, web-head,” Wade whispered, and Peter thought he could hear a smile on his lips. Peter sighed and plucked at the glove, pulling until his hand was free of it.

“I-it makes you comfortable,” he replied, fingers lacing with Wade’s more calloused ones. They felt as if there were scars here, too, and Peter quietly took the hand into both of his, feeling over the skin as his heart thumped hard against his chest.

Wade didn’t say anything as Peter’s fingers inspected the marred flesh. A frown tugged at his lips, touching the smooth lines over the back of his hand where the scars latticed. The cervices in the frames were fleshy and some of it scabbed, not something he expected at all. “I thought you had a healing factor.” He hadn’t meant to say it, and if he hadn’t had a tight hold on his hand, the jerk Wade made would have freed the merc from his grasp.

Feeling like an apology would only make this worse; he kept touching his hand and stayed silent. He didn’t want him to pull away. He traced over the skin gently, the warmth of it nice against his clammy fingers.

“You’d be surprised what it doesn’t heal,” Wade spit bitterly, interrupting the silence. Peter bit his lip, sitting up a little more. “Cursed like this for an eternity—and I thought I was being clever at the time.” Peter’s lips parted, but before he could even ask the question, Wade was answering. “I was a perfect soldier—sort of—was still a merc but back then they were interchangeable practically. Had a good run of it, you name it, I had it. My reputation preceded me—as it should. Then it all just went away—like things always fucking do—with one bad headache. Inoperable tumor; cancer. I let a team experiment on me, and well, ta da.” He could only imagine the animosity that twisted Wade’s face, and it left him speechless.

The shock of the story loosened Peter’s grip on his hand, and Wade took the opportunity to steal it back. Peter scrambled to regain his hold on it, but he only grasped empty air as Wade left the bed. Swallowing, he loosened the ribbon from around his eyes in time to see the door being shut with the hand he had revealed. It wasn’t pretty, and his plea for Wade not to go died in his throat.

Emotions welled up inside him, knowing that door shutting meant he shouldn’t follow the merc. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to, either, but it was that or be alone, and he didn’t want to be alone. He got to his feet, stumbling over a few items on the floor as he made it to the door.

“Wade,” he hedged, opening the door slowly. He could faintly smell the pancakes and maple syrup, but they just made his stomach twist painfully. He heard the sound of water being turned on, then the shower. Peter padded over to the corridor, easing himself against the wall, quietly waiting for him to finish.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote two chapters, just didn't have time to upload them. (A wild project appeared at work!) So, two chapters today!

It was a long wait, and Peter sunk down onto the floor. He cried into his knees, knowing what Gwen would have done here, what she would have said to make it better. If he lay down, maybe he could imagine her hands running through his hair, like she’d do some nights. Her soft fingers tugging lightly at the strands of unruly hair as he lay there against her.

For a moment, he was sure her humming penetrated the silence between them as she combed through the brown tresses. He didn’t mind it, though, the sound soothing to his ears as much as the touch. He snuggled closer, a warm, comforting scent filling his nose as he did so, spicy and fresh. A faint trace of smoke could be traced into that spiciness, and something about it made his eyes flutter open. It was darker in the apartment, probably just after sunset.

He jerked upright when he realized his head was in Deadpool’s…Wade’s…lap. His cheeks filled with heat, his heartbeat stuttering for a moment before returning to normal. “S-sorry,” he apologized, avoiding eye contact with him. He felt his warm hand—callouses and scar tissue not a suit—against his cheek, and he swallowed hard, glancing over at him.

“It’s no big. Kind of liked having you sleeping on me—you know, you’ve got that cute thing working for you,” Wade joked with him, talking fast, and it made Peter’s lips twitch into a smile, a small one, but a smile all the same.

“Cute?” He replied, almost scoffing.

“Ha, yeah, which of us is jailbait…? Oh… _fuck_ ,” Wade punctuated as his choice of wording and the implication of it sank in, and Peter could only imagine the look of horror that was crossing his face right now. He bit his lip to try and stifle the laughter, but some of it broke through. “Baby boy—sure, I make a dishonest man’s living, but seriously. Fuck. I have _some_ morals—rules against this sort of thing—”

“I’m old enough,” Peter cut him off, his laughter taking hold of him, and he lay down on Wade again, his voice carrying through the living room. Wade was less than amused by Peter’s reaction, and he pushed him off of him, standing up.

“You’re a kid—you’re _sixteen_ —”

“Seventeen,” he corrected, interrupting him as the laughter subsided. Wade glared down at him.

“That’s not much better.”

“It’s the age of consent,” Peter argued, sitting up. He stared at Wade, a pout playing across his lips. They hadn’t done anything _wrong_. Wade shifted uncomfortable for a moment before muttering, ‘Oh’, and sitting back down. Peter lay down on him a third time, rolling onto his back and staring up at the masked face.

“I thought you were born in May.” He could hear the frown in his voice. He was sorely tempted to tease him about this, but something told him to leave it for another time.

“No, I have an Aunt May. I’m hurt; all this time of stalking me around and you never learned my birthday.” Peter feigned sincerity for a moment, giving a proper subject change before dissolving into small giggles.

“Stalk’s a strong word, baby boy, and you aren’t the easiest spider to track—imagine how many traps I’d have to set up to stay ahead of you. Though, at the moment…” Peter didn’t expect his fingers to run along his sides, tickling him and making him squirm. He cried out, attempting to get out of his hold, but Wade followed after him his hands teasing at whatever body part Peter exposed. He writhed, laughing as tears filled his eyes, his stomach clenching painfully. He was too incapacitated to fight back before too long, and the breaths he drew were labored and punctuated by laughs, intake of air, and little squeaks.

Wade eased up, hovering over Peter as they both caught their breath, heaving from the rigorous effort they had gone through. His cheeks were flushed, and he had a fleeting thought that this was comfortable, that they had sort of found how this worked. He hadn’t really noticed it before now. Was it really only when he let everything else go and stopped thinking about it? His tongue ran over his lips, drawing the lower between his teeth.

He noticed the slight movement, watched as the mask was drawn up to his nose, and he closed his eyes, stretching slightly to meet the kiss halfway. Wade’s cracked lips pressed easily over his, and Peter ran his tongue over the rough skin. He reached up, cupping the merc’s face, and he was glad to be preoccupied with his lips. He could feel the scar tissue that webbed his hand branching over his cheeks, and his hands almost flinched back from touching him.

“Does it hurt?” He asked between their soft kisses, his fingertips gingerly holding his face close.

“Sometimes,” he answered, piquing something in the back of his mind. However, Peter didn’t get to explore it, Wade’s lips covering his again, his tongue slipping into his mouth. It curved against Peter’s, and he sucked slightly on the appendage, his stomach clenching as Wade’s gloveless hand slid beneath his shirt. He let out a slight moan feeling his fingertips brush over his chest, the slight grind of their hips. The wet muscle withdrew from his mouth, and Peter’s tried to follow, not ready for the contact to be absent. The whine in protest devolved into a small whimper when Wade’s lips massaged over his pulse before dragging to his ear.

“Do you still want to feel my skin?” Peter’s stomach tightened, the way his lips formed the words and the timbre of his voice made his body react more, his hips pressing up against him. “My fingertips”—he punctuated it with them rubbing lightly over a nipple—“on your skin.”

“Yes,” he strained, breathless, eyes darkening with his want. He felt his teeth against the shell of his ear, and he squeaked at the sensation of being bitten there. “Please…” he begged without Wade having to ask, and the merc smirked against the nape of his neck as his hand slid from beneath the shirt to his hip. Peter wrapped his arms around his neck, pushing a kiss against his lips as they moved from the couch to the bedroom.

Peter barely noticed when they were on the bed; his tongue was too caught up in tracing Wade’s to let his mind care. He broke the kiss, shyly bringing his lips to the scars on his cheek. Wade pulled back from him a little, something in the hand he used to cup his face. Peter hesitated for a moment before taking the ribbon from him. He would put it on, and he’d wait for Wade to take it off.

His fingers shook slightly, knowing what he needed to do, but at the same time he was scared to be blind again. Wade leaned into him, lips brushing the shell of his ear as he whispered, “Go ahead, baby boy. You wanted to feel my skin, right? It’s just a blindfold. I’m not tying you up—though I will if you ask nicely.” His words sent shivers down his skin, his body tightening in anticipation. Peter shakily brought his hands up, slowly wrapping the piece of satin around his head and shielding his eyes.

“N-no…” he denied quietly.

“Shame, you’d look really cute writhing—wait,” he commanded gently as Peter’s fingers reached out for Wade, but a strong hand pushed him down, his head enveloped by the pillow. He felt more nervous, how cavalier Wade was being right now. He could hear his pulse in his ears as the black pressed into his eyes. Even though he had lost his sight, his other senses were keyed up enough to attempt compensating. Over his heartbeat, he caught the rustling of Wade pulling off the rest of his suit and the protesting squeak the springs made in his doing so.

His hands rested awkwardly on his chest, waiting for him, feeling the bed move ever so slightly with each motion Wade made. “Wade…” he intoned, decidedly putting his hands against the mattress and pushing up to reach blindly for him. The pads of his fingers were met with the feel of his shoulder, smooth and mottled skin stretching out beneath them, as well. He let his hand mold to it, though, at ease for feeling him.

“Aw, Petey, I was about to—” Peter had followed his hand, his lips finding his throat and kissing the motley flesh, not caring at the moment, just wanting contact with him and the skin he bore for him. The scent of smoke filled his nose and that warm scent he was sure was Wade’s soap. His tongue traced over a patch of sinew, sucking into the flesh as Wade’s soft groan filled his ears. Peter felt his heavy hand fall on his hip for a moment before his smaller frame was hauled into a very bare lap.

“You’re cheating; I thought heroes didn’t cheat, Petey,” Wade growled huskily in his ear. He pulled back from him, cheeks flushed, wanting to stammer an explanation, but unable to as Wade’s lips covered his. His nervousness only heightened as he felt the calloused fingers breaching the borrowed clothing, lightly squeezing his ass.

“W-Wade,” he stuttered when the kiss broke. He felt the rumble in his chest from the laugh, and Peter’s fingers clung to his skin, as if he was a cat that was about to be dropped into water. Wade eased him back down though, carefully detaching his fingers from his back. He held one of his hands in his, bringing it to his mouth. He felt the whispers of his voices as he kissed along the stretch of his wrist. He couldn’t catch it, even as his ears strained, but he caught the nips of teeth and the apologetic tongue that followed.

“Don’t worry, baby boy, I’ll take good care of you,” he said more audibly, as if he was telling himself that, but it did help settle Peter’s nerves. Wade’s lips kissed over his chest, his fingers tugging the loose boxers from his frame to be thrown onto the ground. Wade’s hands caressed over his sides, down his stomach tantalizingly close to his erection, only to trace along the insides of his thighs. His stomach rippled as his muscles clenched, feeling kisses trail after his hands, and his entire body tightened when he felt the heat of his breath against him.

He gave the slightest of cries, and he could almost hear the smirk in the silence that wore on forever before the wet of his tongue licked over the head. Peter’s hands, idle up to this point, fisted the sheets, his hips jerking upwards despite knowing he shouldn’t. He felt the merc’s hands tighten their hold, keeping them in place as he took him into his mouth.

“Ah—W-Wade,” he gasped, lifting his head as if he would be able to see what he knew was happening: the slick tongue wrapping attentively over the head before he inched further into his mouth, curving as the tip of the wet muscle teased along the vein. He hummed around him, the vibrations making his hips shake in Wade’s hands, and he fell back against the bed, his back arched. Wade’s mouth sucking around him shook his weak attempt to have some conversation with the man.

He could only writhe, moaning as he felt his mouth slide from his dick, the wet sound making more blood rush from his head. “Mmngh!” His eyes were screwed shut beneath his blindfold, his hips struggling against the hands that held him down as his tongue caressed over him a final time. He whined as he felt Wade’s hands let him go, his heart rate climbing as the weight on the bed shifted.

“Patience,” he purred against his lips, taking them. The kiss was stained with his precum, but Peter met Wade’s tongue feverishly, not wanting to be disconnected from him too long. He could feel skin pressed against the backs of his thighs and heard the pop of a cap. The cold lube made him jump slightly, but he pushed into the kiss more, his teeth latching onto Wade’s tongue as he felt him try and pull away. “Mm, baby boy, don’t bite too hard,” he chastised, pressing their foreheads together as his finger moved inside him.

He gave a whimper, his body still sore from the night before, but Wade shushed him, kissing him gingerly. “Relax for me,” he breathed against his lips, shallowly thrusting inside of him. Peter tried to say okay, but he could only manage a nod, taking a deep breath as he felt him press up to the knuckle. Slowly, he began to rock back against him, the uncomfortable feeling disappearing until he felt the second digit press inside of him.

The taste of blood filled his mouth, not meaning to bite into Wade’s lip, and he tensed up again. Wade merely ignored his whimpers of apology, kissing him like nothing had happened, continuing to stretch him. Peter cried into the kiss though, pain forking up his body. His tears soaked into the satin ribbon only so much before they ran down his cheeks. Wade’s kiss drowned the pleasured sound that escaped him, too; rubbing and teasing along his prostate, making Peter’s hips meet his hand for more of the touch.

He breathed out hard when Wade withdrew from him, his only connection to him the feeling of skin against the backs of his thighs. “Ha…please,” he gasped, wishing he could see. He felt hands cover his, massaging the skin lightly, making Peter’s heart jump in his chest. He had forgotten he was holding the sheets. His fingers felt numb and prickled when he released them.

“I thought you wanted to feel me, baby boy? C’mon, it’s okay to touch,” he encouraged, and it took Peter a moment to realize he was being lifted up from the bed, their positions changing. His hands fell on Wade’s chest, his cheeks aflame as he straddled him. He felt the gentle tugs at the baggy shirt, and he lifted his arms enough for Wade to pull that off of him, too. He swallowed hard, his fingers tracing over the expanse of scars, hyperaware of how Wade’s hands rested on his hips and when they left them.

He let him explore his skin though, and Peter did just that, ignoring the sound of the small packet tear open. His mind tried to supply the vision his palms saw, the scars that shifted texture beneath his touch, the wounds that healed but never went away. When Peter leaned in to kiss him, Wade moved just enough for him to feel him pressing against his entrance. He tried to relax, feeling his hips rock up, the stretch as familiar as the burn. He muffled his sob with the kiss though, his fingertips digging into Wade’s chest. Had it hurt this much before? He didn’t think so; he was too numb, too shocked last night to feel the sharp pain moving along his spine, like he did now. But the lips against his responded gently (if, maybe, a little desperate), hand steady at his hip while the other pressed against his shoulder blade.

Wade broke the kiss as his hands traced over his flesh, grasping his wrists until his thumbs pressed firm and insistent against their underside, forcing the release of tension there. His fingertips felt like they were in lukewarm wax. He shuddered to think why, but he rolled his hips down against him so he wouldn’t have to, the sting of sex taking his mind off of it.

Wade’s chuckle filled his ears as he thrust up into him, and Peter’s voice broke as he moaned.

He gripped him, his fingers pressing against the rough flesh as Wade’s guided him down, against his chest. He rocked gingerly over him, gasping and his knees twitching as he felt him pressing against his prostate. The added friction on his cock made him shut his eyes tight behind the blindfold as he buried his face into his neck, forcing himself to keep going.

He kissed the skin there, slowly kissing up to his jaw line. His fingers made to grip hair that wasn’t there, and his nails scratched along the surface of the back of his head. His throat felt tight—the cancer, right? He brought his lips to Wade’s, their tongues fusing together for a kiss that broke too soon.

His muscles tensed with the sounds of their harsh breathing in his ears when he came without warning. The wet liquid spurted against their bodies, warm and sticky, congealing with their sweat.

Peter moaned as Wade thrust into him faster, making him wince, but it didn’t last much longer. Wade brushed back his bangs, pecking his lips as his hips lazily grinded against him, milking his orgasm. He felt exhausted, his knees slowly letting go of the grip they had on Wade’s torso. He slumped slightly against him, kissing his neck, not wanting to move.

“Spidey-baby,” Wade breathed against his ear.

“No,” he moaned, not wanting to figure out how his limbs worked so soon after losing them. Wade chuckled again, carefully freeing himself from his body, and laying the boy back against the pillow.

He only noticed that Wade had left and come back when he felt the warmth of the towel against his skin and the glass of water pressed to his lips. “If I don’t watch it, you’ll dehydrate on me because you won’t get up for it.”

“That’s not my fault,” he quipped back, tiredly, sitting up some as he felt Wade tugging at the knot keeping the blindfold in place. When it fell away, he pressed close to him, breathing normally for the first time since he had put it on. The suit was back, but he did feel his lips press against his forehead as Wade let them fall unceremoniously horizontal, his arm wrapping around him protectively. He nuzzled closer, not wanting to lose contact with him, feeling sleep edging out Wade’s voice talking about ‘static cling’ or something.


	18. Chapter 18

The funeral was filled with their classmates, her mother quietly crying, and her little brothers staring at the casket with wet, red eyes. Wade didn’t come with him, saying it wasn’t his style, and silently, Peter was glad. This didn’t involve him (even though it did, and he didn’t want to admit it to himself).

It was hard seeing her, her skin more like porcelain now. He couldn’t cry, his grief beyond tears. The world would keep going after this, and Wade was right. He had to go along with it.

When he spoke, his voice shook, and it took him a couple slips to get the tense correct. He _admired_ her. She _was_ amazing and beautiful and smart. He _loved_ her. He couldn’t continue after that, his nose burning and his eyes finding the tears they hadn’t shed yet. He stayed there, even after everyone had gone, even when the sun had started to set.

He blinked and pulled himself away from the gravesite, knowing he couldn’t stay here. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, trudging home as the light disappeared from the sky. He was heavy with the weight of the secret he kept in his heart, he kept with Goblin. Thinking about the villain made his hands tighten into fists.

Gwen deserved so much better; she deserved to be alive.

He slammed that hand into the nearby bricks of a building. The red stone broke away from its corner, a sharp pain slicing through his skin. He had split the flesh over his bones, but it wasn’t severe. It was just his knuckles. They’d heal.

But Peter wondered if the heart ever did. His time with Wade was short compared to the time spent out of the mercenary’s company. Every time Wade had to leave, it felt like Peter picked a scab that wasn’t ready, and he kept pulling until he was bleeding and in pain again.

Wade didn’t fix him, and he wasn’t like glue. It was like putting duct tape over a hole in the wall and saying it was as good as new. It wasn’t though, and when the grey strip peeled away, that hole would still be there.

School was harder to deal with, not because the work was difficult, but the routine was wrong. He didn’t wait for her on the quad anymore, he ate by himself at lunch, and she wasn’t there to chastise him for falling asleep during class. Teachers gave him nervous looks, and even Flash left him alone.

He brought his hand up to wipe away tears that had formed, sniffing and trying to shove his emotions down as he approached the front door. He fished out his keys, unlocking the door. Aunt May sat at the table, drinking a cup of tea. She looked up when he shut the door.

“You didn’t have—” She slid back the chair, crossing the room to wrap him in her arms. He smiled weakly, returning the hug easily. “Thanks Aunt May,” he whispered when she pulled away.

“Get some sleep if you can, Peter,” she advised gently, before kissing his cheek and taking her cup to the sink.

“I’ll try, Aunt May,” he told her over his shoulder as he exited the kitchen. He didn’t have to worry about sleep. Wade would probably be in his room—like he usually was—and the man always found a way for him to be able to close his eyes. Though, he was often gone by the morning, his heart taking a heavy hit every time. How long could he keep doing this to himself?

He climbed the stairs, and as expected, his Band-Aid was there, ready to press himself over his gaping wound. “Not yet,” he protested, putting his palms out to him. The merc stayed back, his mouth running a mile a minute about his day while took off the black tie, the black jacket, the black pants. His fingers were fumbling with the buttons of his shirt when he felt the warmth Wade plastered against his back.

“They shot at me today, but I decided I wouldn’t play with them. Finished them off quick so I could get back here to you—it’s just my blood, I promise.” Peter swallowed with difficulty, feeling the merc’s hands groping over his hips, over the front of his boxers.

“Wade, I said not yet.” Wade didn’t pull away from him, but he let his hands linger against his body, fingers moving to brush over his skin beneath his shirt.

“Maybe we’re losing our touch? Nah…we can cheer him up.” He felt the frown pulling at his lips, tearing pricking his eyes. He sniffed hard, taking Wade’s hands off of him, walking over to the window.

“I don’t want to know about…those people…” It was just more guilt, more blood on his hands. It was him not being Spider-Man.

“C’mon, Petey…”

He heard his footsteps move closer to him, the soft pad of his shoes halting right behind him. He felt his arms encircle his torso, palms flat against his stomach. He felt his kiss, the material in the way of his dry, cracked lips.

“It’s okay, baby boy,” he breathed against his skin, Wade’s hands cradling him.

“No,” he protested, his hands reaching for Wade’s. “No…it’s not…”

“It will be, baby boy.” He shut his eyes, feeling the tug of the merc’s fingers unfastening the rest of the buttons. “I promise it will be.” Peter reached up, giving up as he rolled up the mask to his nose. He shut his eyes when he felt the wet heat from his mouth encase the nape of his neck, teeth biting lightly and sucking hard. Peter gave a whimper, knees buckling from the sensation.

“You promise?” He questioned, feeling like that was a bit ironic coming from Wade. The Merc with the Mouth chuckled as he kissed his pulse.

“Yeah, it’s weird right? The biggest fuck-up in the history of fuck-ups promising you that it gets better? But it does, Petey. Let me…make it better,” he murmured, lips sucking a bruise into his skin. Peter put his hand against the window, finally able to ask what he wanted.

“Will you let me see you?” Wade stopped his ministrations, and Peter could feel the nervous quiver on his skin before he pulled away from him.

“Petey…it’s not exactly something you’d want to see.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Peter begged, turning to look at him. “Just…let me see you…” Wade shifted slightly, uncomfortable.

“Peter…I really don’t think that’d be…” Peter shook his head at him, filling the step between them. He could see when he swallowed, the slight bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Why?” He asked him, brown eyes studying him. “Why can’t I see you…?” Wade looked away from him, his hand coming up to cover his face, but Peter took that hand and pulled it away.

“Because…you wouldn’t want to…not right now—probably not ever—god, look at you,” he breathed, and Peter’s cheeks felt hot, recognizing that tone of voice as one he only used when they were in bed. “It’s…not easy for me.”

“Wade…” He pulled the glove off of the hand he still held, pressing a kiss to his scarred palm. “Please…I…I want to know what you look like.” His hand practically covered his face, but his brown eyes bore into Wade’s through the mask.

“All right—all right, just stop with those eyes, please,” Wade caved, and Peter pressed his lips over the heel of his hand, his tongue tracing along the lines of his palm. Wade didn’t give into him immediately, though, that hand grabbing him and drawing him in and capturing his lips hungrily.

Peter’s eyes shut tight, his other hand wrapping around the back of his neck and bringing him in closer, their lips mashed together as his body surged into him, moaning softly. Wade’s tongue licked into his mouth, and Peter could taste burritos on his breath. It made his lips twitch a little, opening his eyes as he brought his legs up around his waist.

In a human moment, he froze, gawking at the face.

Dark, sunken eyes stared back at his. Peter’s eyes flitted between his lips—familiar and chapped—and his face—rivulets and scar tissue and blotchy flesh.

He was only surprised, but Wade’s hands were firm as he pushed Peter away. He saw, rather than imagined, the hurt that filled his eyes. Peter stepped in, but the merc shook his head, a twisted smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Handsome, aren’t I? Go on, you just can’t contain yourself, can you?”

“Wade—”

“I can’t walk around on the streets without people staring and pointing and laughing or saying, ‘That poor bastard’. They’re not quiet either. I make people sick.” He paused for a second, and Peter watched on in horror, listening to the words spilling out of his mouth. “We make ’im sick. He’s pale. God, whatever got into you to think he’d want to see it? Your face sloughs off, so does the rest of your skin. You’re disgusting.”

“ _Wade_ —” He tried to plead with him, his hand reaching out to touch his face, but Wade—Deadpool struck out at him, the sting of his slap burning against his cheek. Peter’s eyes widened, his mouth open in shock as his hand went to touch the tender flesh.

Brown met brown, both equally shaken, one full of immediate regret and the other filling with tears.

Before Peter could even think about grabbing him, the merc disappeared into thin air. He stared, belatedly reaching out to the spot he left behind when he teleported. The teen sank to his knees, his other hand still holding his cheek, still stunned at being hit.


	19. Chapter 19

Peter didn’t hear from him the next night or the night following. He stayed up hoping, thinking over the things he had said about himself. Peter didn’t know. How could he? He always had thought the conversations he had with himself weren’t so…angry and hateful, but he had been wrong. Maybe I’ve been wrong about a lot of things, he wondered quietly as he went another night without really sleeping.

Deadpool…Wade…it didn’t matter; they had the same face. A face disfigured by people Peter would never know. Something in him wanted to know all of it—the full story, not the abridged version he had been hurried through.

It had been over a week since he had last heard from him though, and Peter learned that if he stayed busy, worked too hard, he’d be too tired to stay up dwelling on everything that had happened in such a short amount of time.

He took up extra jobs for the paper if they needed a photographer, and finally gave the school counselor an answer on his graduating early—he’d have the credits and it’d be easier to move on without the constant reminders staring him in the face every day. The nights on patrol were spent as self-serving missions, half looking for Wade and half tracking down any leads that might put him in the path of the Green Goblin.

But nothing ever panned out.

He pushed his glasses up his nose as he followed behind his colleague, equally bespectacled with carefully combed black hair. He snagged a couple of shots of the entrance of OsCorp, wanting something just to warm himself up with before he had to get mug shots of the men they were about to interview.

He caught someone moving into the frame of his camera, and through the lens he couldn’t make out who it was, except there was something familiar about the dark haired man. He put down the camera, seeing the face, and immediately was reminded of the boy he had been best friends with almost a decade ago.

“Harry?”

“Peter?—of course it’s you! Still hiding behind cameras?” He poked fun at him as he approached. Peter laughed, nodding his head, his lips jutting out slightly.

“Yeah, but I get paid for it now.” Harry wrapped him up in a warm, receiving hug, which Peter returned happily. What were the odds that he’d see him again? However, before Peter could get caught up with the past, in his periphery he could see the reporter giving him a dirty look. The man even went so far as to make a sort of frantic movement with his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet for a second, signaling him blatantly.

“Sorry, I’ve got to get back to work,” he told him with chagrin, casually taking a step away from Harry and towards his colleague. Harry nodded and waved him off.

“Yeah, I get that. Come by the house later tonight. We need to catch up.” Peter nodded before turning around completely to fall into step behind the reporter. They were supposed to have at least ten minutes with Mr. Osborn himself, and he knew that was why his colleague was so anxious to arrive on time to the meeting room.

They were still the first to arrive, the secretary leading them into the windowed room. Peter snapped a photo of the reporter, rereading his questions he wanted answered for the purpose of his article. The door opened not a moment later, Norman Osborn entering the room first, followed by his PR group and the vice president of OsCorp.

–

When Peter stopped by that evening, all of his senses were on high alert. He was sure Harry didn’t know about this. Within seconds of shaking his hand and hearing him introduce himself, Peter knew who he was. He forced himself to let go and smile back at the president, knowing he couldn’t do anything here.

And Norman Osborn knew it, if the leering stares he gave him were anything to go by. Peter never felt so cold, and his colleague had asked if he was feeling well after the entire thing.

He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, looking down at his sneakers, wet from the late afternoon rain. He looked up quickly when the door was opened, Harry’s bright eyes staring at him with a sweet smile.

“You made it! I was beginning to wonder, Peter Parker.” He stepped aside, and Peter entered the large house, eyes scanning the dark interior, the paintings, the rugs—anything and everything that came into view. “Go ahead and give yourself a tour—I was working on something for one of my classes while I was waiting on you, and I can’t really leave it alone too long.”

“Yeah, go—I’ll be fine,” Peter dismissed him, laughing and shooing him with his hands. Harry nodded.

“Just a fair warning, my father’s in a rather foul mood, and I think he’s in his study. See you in a few,” he informed him as he backed away to the stairs, and then turned to take them two at a time.

The teen hedged into the den, brown eyes taking in the sight of plush chairs and end tables with extravagant lamps.

“Peter Parker,” he announced in a calm voice. Peter stiffened, his gaze shifting to his right. He stood there casually, the absent father of his best childhood friend. He turned to face him completely, but he didn’t try to appear at ease in this room. “It’s nice of you to climb down from your web to see Harry. Or was it to see me? I wonder.” Peter stayed silent, but he could feel his teeth grinding against one another. “It’s pretentious, don’t you think, Peter? Running around dressed in that ridiculous costume…very grandiose of you—some might think you do it for the attention.” Peter’s jaw set painfully, watching as the man before him poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter.

“It’s my responsibility to protect them,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“Protect?” He barked out a laugh. “You have the gall to think that some skinny geek in spandex can save these people? That you actually can make a difference? Peter, my boy, do you even remember the way Gwen looked at you, how she knew the situation was hopeless? It’s because she knew what she had known all along, that you’re just a lost, wounded child playing dress-up.” Peter forgot himself in those taunting words, his steps placing him in distance. He reached out to grab the front of his collar, but Norman Osborn grabbed his wrist, squeezing tight until it felt like Peter’s bones were going to give. He winced, but his glare never wavered.

“You’re an asshole,” he spit at him.

“Careful, my son is never too far away to hear our conversations. You wouldn't want him to know your little secrets, do you? _Murderer_ ,” he hissed in his ear as he felt Norman Osborn drop something into his jacket pocket. “Run along, I’m sure Harry will wonder where you’ve wandered off to.” Peter had to get a grip on himself, his anger peaking at his taunting words.

“Hey there you are, Peter,” Harry called smiling. “C’mon, let’s go have some—”

“I…I can’t, Harry. Something came up.” His skin was stretched white over the bone. “Rain check?” He asked the teen, trying to smile genuinely at him while Harry’s smile tightened infinitesimally.

“Yeah, Pete, yeah I’ll let you know.” Peter nodded, striding past him, noticing the accusatory look he gave his father. He

“Thanks Harry.” He clapped him gently on the shoulder and squeezed. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispered, letting go of his shoulder. He didn’t wait to be escorted from the mansion, needing to get out of there.

His mind raced with his thoughts chasing each other. Harry’s dad was behind this. The rain started up again, and Peter ducked his head closer to his jacket, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he walked home. His footsteps came to a halt as he noticed the object Mr. Osborn had given him. He fingered it, rectangular and small—a flash drive maybe. He didn’t dare pull it out, and he picked up his pace, running as the cold rain seeped into his clothes.


	20. Chapter 20

It was all there on that memory stick—the where, the when. The glow of the laptop was cutoff, his fingers deftly shutting the screen before double checking that the door to his room was secured. Aunt May couldn’t know about this—not ever. If no one else, he would keep _her_ safe.

He dug into his closet, not hesitating in shucking his clothes to don the suit. He took a deep breath as the mask rolled over his nose, lips, and chin, steadying his resolve. He had to do this, for Gwen…and for him. He pushed open his window and crawled outside.

The rain was coming down harder now, and Spider-Man was completely soaked as he climbed to the roof, looking over the city. He didn’t care, though. Tonight was between him and the goblin. Running to the edge, he shot the webbing out, making his way towards the abandoned tracks underneath the city.

It didn’t take him long at all, but his heart was beating fast, all of his nerves keyed up when he landed in the underground lair. He had to decide which way to go, but he was just told to come here. He was anxious, waiting for someone to come out of the darkness on either side of him, but no one did. In fact, he didn’t feel anything beyond his anxiety of looking for an enemy that wasn’t there.

“If you want a rematch, Peter, you’ll have to find me first.” The loud cackle came over an intercom system hidden in the darkness. Peter’s eyes narrowed beneath the wet mask, anger boiling his blood. He almost growled in response. The man had lied.

“Osborn! You said you’d be here!” His voice echoed all around him, his temper evident in the sudden burst, but he heaved to breath, the mask almost suffocating him from the rain.

“Ah-ah!  I just said that I would be here. There’s no rule against being vague. You have thirty minutes.” Peter growled in frustration, slamming a fist through the wall below the intercom. He ripped the mask off and wrung it out, watching the water drip into a puddle onto the concrete. He shoved the mask on over his head, and that’s when he heard a faint gagging sound. He couldn’t be sure _what_ was making it, but he knew that it came from his right, and he darted off in that direction.

His senses tweaked as he sprinted down the corridor. He jumped from the concrete sidewalk to the tracks, almost slipping on the loose gravel underfoot. It crunched as it shifted under his movements. He turned down a side tunnel, and as he ran, he stepped on something that squished. A shiver went up his spine as the smell of blood finally made it through his damp mask.

The darkness ate at his vision in the desolate hall, and Peter knew he wasn’t alone, his hair standing on end. He whipped around, dodging to the side as someone landed hard on the rock-strewn floor, skidding over them. Peter narrowed his eyes, crouching, preparing—

“Ahn!” Peter gritted his teeth, wincing as pain lanced up his forearms from blocking the hit to his face. His opponent came at him again, forcing him to stagger back to avoid it, his right forearm taking the brunt of it. They didn’t stop, their feet flattening against the rocky surface as they aimed punch after punch. Peter blocked, feeling each hit hurt worse than the last. It’s too dark, he thought, almost in a panic. If he couldn’t see, he couldn’t fight.

His hand flew up and caught the left cross to his face. But the victory was short lived.

The roundhouse kick hit hard, his ribs aching and the pain radiating over his sides as he slammed into the base of the concrete platform, shoulder first. He rolled out of the way, leading the fight towards the lighter end of the tunnel.

His attacker gave chase, and Peter held his ground. He listened, waiting as the loose rocks shifted, and he could feel his opponent on him. He delivered a blow to his pursuer’s stomach, feeling his hand tremble from the impact. He bit his lip to cut off a pained moan, crouching low to get around the dark figure.

He could see his silhouette now—burly and tall—but the agony that came to life on his cheek was his price. He stumbled back as a hand came up to nurse the wound he had taken to the face. His other reflexively shot the webbing at his torso, catching his arm and gluing it to his side. Peter readied to web the masked man against the wall, but stopped as a glimmer of silver flashed over the netted wire, deftly freeing himself.

Peter didn’t wait.

He charged. Fists ready, he punched out at the man.

His sides and face were bruised, his ribs possibly broken. His arms caught the man around the middle and hands came up to match his. He was stronger though, his strength forcing him to the ground with a loud grunt. He held him down, knees on his biceps, straddling his chest, a hand at his throat as he glared down at him. He didn’t bother asking. He didn’t need to after seeing how he cut through his webbing.

He pulled off the mask, heart pounding in his ears. His eyes pricked and his heart dropped into his stomach when he saw his dark, sunken eyes. “Why?” He shouted at him, his grip never loosening on Wade’s throat. Tears fell hot and fast against his cheeks, but it was suffocating in the mask, and he tore it from his face. He bit his lip, trying to keep it from trembling.

“Heh…can’t breathe…baby…” Wade coughed, trying to gasp more air into his body. “Boy…” he finished the sentence, and Peter only barely let up on his neck. The Merc with the Mouth wheezed further before continuing, “For you—I…this isn’t…beautiful, Petey.” Peter glared down at him, crying out,

“Liar! You did it for you! You’re…beautiful to me,” he whimpered, and in that moment, he meant those words. The repulsiveness of Wade’s skin, the ugly gashes and scars, the proof of the damage done to his body all those years ago had become something he had fallen for without even realizing it until now.

“Oh yeah? You have a funny way of showing it.”

“How could I? If it were me, you’d…” The words caught in his throat. No, Wade probably wouldn’t have done the same; it didn’t matter now though, did it? He let him go and stood up on shaky legs. His anger had left him. Now all he felt was betrayal and anguish from the man that had given him comfort. “Do…whatever you want,” he intoned lifelessly, turning away from him.

First Gwen, now Wade.

He felt numb. Wade was working for the Green Goblin. He took a step away from the mercenary. Of course he’d be working for the man, he thought. Step. He was going to fix him. Step. It was the one thing his healing factor couldn’t heal, but Osborn had been researching this. Step. His parents had founded the basis of the research and died for it. Step. Dr. Cooper had died because of his greed with that information. Step. Peter was responsible for that and for Officer  Stacey and for Gwen. Step. Peter was responsible for Wade not thinking he loved him. Step.

“Petey, wait,” the man called out to him, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t turn around and look at him. He couldn’t bear it. “Peter…” He heard scuffling, but Peter’s feet continued to move. One foot in front of the other, and then I’ll be home with Aunt May. I’ll be home… “Stop…please.” The whisper was in his ear, his body cradled in arms with thick bands of muscle. Any fight Peter might have had left in him faded, his knees giving out in Wade’s grasp.

“We’ll…stop him together…” he breathed against his ear. “Please don’t…go.” Peter’s lips quivered, and he hung in Wade’s arms, holding onto his wrists with his hands, but nothing else. He felt the brush of chapped lips against his split cheek, wincing as the warmth of his tongue traced over it. Peter still turned his face into the touch, giving just enough encouragement for Wade to press their lips together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so... The End.
> 
> I have a nice, little bit of smut to round out the end as a bonus chapter for us all ^^;; (you're mistaken if you don't think we write it for us, too). Thank you all for such lovely comments, and I hope to have some more stories up after a while.


	21. Epilogue

It was about acceptance; Peter knew that now as their hands gripped at each other fervidly. Accepting what he had done, allowing himself to move on, and welcoming this change like every time before this. Clothes found their way to the dirtied floor, and Peter’s lips dragged against his variegated flesh. Accepting this mess of a man that desired him, accepting that things will never be all right, and knowing that it was okay that they weren’t were part of this uncharted territory.

Peter sucked at the sinew of his neck, his tongue slow and deliberate as he kissed him. The metallic tang of gunpowder and dried blood assaulted his senses, the taste that reminded him what this man was, but Peter didn’t stop, bringing his lips to his chest, teasing a nipple.

Wade’s fingers made impressions on his fair skin, kneading into his body, pleasure teeming within him. A breathy moan caught in his throat as their hips rolled together, his hands trying to hold him and be attentive at the same time. He pressed his face into his neck, his fingers tracing every scar that seemingly shifted beneath his hands.

His teeth bit shyly as the pads of his fingers shifted over scar tissue, and reveled in the sounds of Wade, letting him roll them over and push him into the mattress. The tip of Wade’s cock rubbed against his body, making Peter’s hips rock, moving with it. Shivers of want feeding through him, Peter reversed their positions again, lips against Wade’s abdomen.

He gingerly touched the erection with his fingertips, slit to base, stroking carefully. His eyes flicked up to meet Wade’s, cheeks flushed and nervous as he licked his lips. The merc had an awed look about him as Peter’s lips parted and took him into his mouth. His tongue curved against him, suckling at the tip as his hand pumped slowly at the base.

“Fuck…” The word punctuated the air, making his cock throb as he sucked. “That’s good baby boy.” Peter’s lips twitched slightly, pulling off just enough to let the saliva slick up his hand. He twisted his wrist some on the down stroke, his lips following his fingers and taking him in as much as he could. Wade’s erection twitched slightly as the palm of his hand brushed over the tightening, sensitive flesh of his balls, and Peter listened to the hum of pleasure his lover made. He could feel Wade shifting some, but he kept his full attention on the task at hand, swallowing and slurping at the copious amount of wetness.

His mouth came off of Wade as he felt two lubed fingers pressing inside of him, Wade’s kiss catching the moan and sucking away some of the mess he had made. Peter gasped, trying to pull back for air, but Wade followed him, his fingers pressing rhythmically inside him, stretching him open. When Wade let him breathe, Peter’s eyes were almost shut, his body responding to the touch more as it became shallower.

“Wade,” he quipped, trying to press back against the fingers that were only teasing him now.

“Say it,” he whispered against his lips.

“ _Please_ ,” he begged, his darkened eyes meeting Wade’s.

“Please what?” Peter shivered, his stomach tightening with arousal as Wade’s lips curved in a knowing smile.

“I _need_ you.”

“Where?” His husky voice went straight to his cock, and he bit his lip hard. Wade’s fingers were almost completely gone, and his other hand came to hold Peter’s waist in place.

“Ins-ide—nngh!” In one, smooth motion; he was inside of him, his hands guiding his hips into a rough pace. Peter let out a sharp cry of shock and pain that waned directly into pleasure, grinding their hips together roughly. His hands rested on his shoulders, and his knees buried themselves into the mattress as he felt the pull of his body drawing Wade into him even as the merc slid out to thrust into him again.

His rough hands groped at Peter’s ass, pressing his hips at the right angle, Peter gave another loud moan as Wade laid back to let him be completely on top. His lithe body tensed completely as Wade stimulated his prostate over and over, his fingertips sliding to the mattress to get a better grip. If it wasn’t for Wade guiding him, he wouldn’t have been able to move amidst the pleasure short-circuiting his brain.

He took control then, pulling Peter down to put him on his back, grinding into him hard. He could hear the mattress squeaking over his voice as Wade’s hands cupped under his knees, pressing them to his chest. Peter bit his lip, his eyes closing tight and his neck the only thing able to arch from the position.

He could feel him brushing his prostate, and he shivered, his legs shaking as he met each of the thrusts that brought him closer to the edge. He opened his eyes as his body convulsed and Wade’s hand began to stroke him. He watched Wade watching him, and Peter noticed how his eyes constantly flicked between where they were connected and his face. Peter blushed, coming in Wade’s hand, a self-satisfied smirk on the merc’s lips.

When Wade came not a moment later, he could feel how deep inside he was and the warm liquid that pooled there. Wade didn’t pull out immediately, leaning over Peter, brushing their lips together slowly. “I didn’t know, Petey…” he whispered afterwards, withdrawing from his body before completely enveloping him—caging him underneath his large body. Peter’s throat felt tight, and he wrapped his arms around him, hiding his face.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I miss the old me…is that a crime? Yeah, maybe—considering what you’d _do_ for it—I know that! I…know that… You’ve done worse for less—yeah, I know that, too. Christ. I should’ve known who he was. But you didn’t because you’re a fucking idiot—I get it already!” He pulled back from Peter, moving to the edge of the bed as he argued with himself, head in his hands. Peter swallowed, slowly sitting up, a wet spot forming beneath him. He shut his eyes to steady himself; he was not going to be bothered by that, not right now at least.

“Wade…you shouldn’t say that…” He placed a hand on the merc’s shoulder before laying his head on it.

“It’s not like I want to—they usually aren’t wrong, though.”

“They?” Wade wrapped an arm around him.

“The voices…” Peter didn’t prompt him to finish, finally understanding. “I was left alone after one of the experiments for a long time, and they just showed up. I can’t…get rid of them. I’ve tried.” After a moment, he added, “Don’t worry, baby boy, they only have nice things to say about you and your pretty ass.” Peter narrowed his eyes, batting at him playfully as Wade groped said appendage.

“I’m sure,” he muttered, feeling his cheeks flush. Wade leaned into him, their lips close together.

“Yeah, we’re pretty enamored with you, Spidey. It’s probably the only thing we can really agree on besides Mexican food.” Wade pressed him back down against the bed, kissing his lips languidly before laying down next to him. He wrapped his arms protectively around Peter, who wriggled into a more comfortable position on his side. He fell asleep almost immediately, content knowing it wasn’t much and it wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t need to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading this and kudo-ing and commenting. It has been amazing to see this story take form and people love it. You've all been great, and there will be more from me ^^


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